MAN AND CHAIN

Douglas L. Simmons:
Abecedarian
Presents:
Man And Chain

Man And Chain

You may not Copy or "Mirror" these pages without the express permission of the Author.

This short novel was originally published on line at Global Publishing Company; Scotland. It is presented here for you to read at your leisure, or copy and paste into your palm reader for your private use only.

It is my expressed hope that this tale, most of all, brings joy to the heart of the reader and, if possible, lends a different viewpoint from which to know the world about you.

--the author (Douglas L. Simmons)

Return To Novel Fictions

Man And Chain
By
Douglas L. Simmons

All Rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
Published Internationally in electronic format by Global Publishing Bureau Limited, Scotland.

First Global Publishing Bureau Electronic Edition: January 5, 2000

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

Man And Chain

For My Father: Forgiveness.

Clickable Index:

Man and Chain

ONE -- Sunrise

I make the distinction between love and hate: Love is for me; hate is for others.

Aaa, a reflection in your eyes. For an instant I detect the self emerging. Only reaching the wall of your ego, it collides with that immovable object and rushes about in a blind panic; searching helplessly for a gate. There are no gates. There is only the wall.

There is a person. No. There is a line of people. They await your pleasure, but you have none. You no longer can take pleasure from others. You can not recognize it in them any more. You have pleasured your self for so long that no one else can do so.

Love is giving. Hate is taking. Freedom is the ability to give.

This is not a love story. If I gave you love you would not take it. You can not hate love (love is never alone). If you give; then you are not alone, you become a part of. Even when the gift is not accepted. Love does not have to be accepted to be given. You will not accept something you cannot hate.

Need I comment on old men? They are changeless. The mountain stands arrogantly above the sea. When the winds have worn the mountain to the sea, change becomes constant and nonexistent at once, and the mountain becomes floor to the ocean; the sea changes constantly and consistently refuses change. The man has forgotten the youth who became old. The youth does not yet know that he is becoming the man. Each believes he moves of his own accord.

Both deny the power of the wind.

TWO -- Near Dark

James came near to loosing control of the van, as the front passenger side tire dropped into a pot hole on the edge of the pavement. He swore and wrenched the steering wheel to the left, using all the strength he could muster, he steered into the slide as the vehicle skidded toward the median while simultaneously aiming itself to leap from the pavement and plummet down the incline into the ditch running parallel to the road; should it regain traction.

"What did you have to hit him so hard for?" his brother Phillip yelled from the rear compartment of the van, as he attempted to restrain the man lying on the improvised stretcher they had hurriedly pieced together from the plywood and blankets they found in the back of the van.

"He was getting away," James replied irritably as he once more managed to constrain the flight of the van and steer it in the direction he wanted it to go.

Shaking his head in disgust while at the same time breathing a sigh of relief as it dawned on him that he might yet live through this nightmare ride long enough to kill his older brother, Phillip replied rather sarcastically, "He's a seventy year old man for God sake! What was he gonna do, run over the top of the hill, jump in the water and swim away before you could catch up to him?"

"Look asshole! I had to stop him. We're already into this mess up to our necks! If he had made it to the police we'd be spending the rest of our miserable lives in prison counting our millions!" James shrieked, while taking his eyes from the road long enough to look into the rearview mirror and check that his cargo was still intact. "Just make sure you keep the old fart alive long enough for us to get him to the Doc's house."

Still checking himself for injuries more permanent than the bruises he had already located, Phillip leaned down and watched the old mans chest for a moment, then said, "He's still breathing. He'll be all right; he's tougher than the both of us put together. If we had waited for him to die of old age our grand kids would be spending the money; instead of us."

"You better find some one dumb enough to marry you in the first place so you can have some kids, before you start worrying about grand kids," James said as he braked the van, then turned right onto the side road leading up to a small subdivision of expensive houses owned predominantly by doctors and businessmen who worked in the nearby town.

After the old man had been injured during his escape attempt James had told his brother he knew a Doctor who would help them and keep his mouth shut about it. For a fee; of course.

As they approached the house where the Doctor lived Phillip ask, "Are you sure about this guy, James? There's enough people who know about this already, and half of them have trouble keeping their mouths shut over a hangnail. All we need is a big mouth Doctor in on it."

James shook his head in disapproval at the suggestion of the Doctors unsuitability for the task of mending the old mans wounds, then keeping quiet about it afterwards. "Look just so you'll stop nagging me about him I'll tell you. I've already got some things on this guy. For one he's not above performing an abortion or two and forgetting to file a report with the police; which he knows I could testify to his having done. As long as he's paid well enough, he isn't going to talk."

"Just how would you know about a Doctor who does that kind of illegal surgery?" Phillip ask sarcastically, while gazing at the house as if by doing so he could ascertain what kind of person dwelling there amid so much beauty could harbor such evil within him self.

James, whose predominant motivating thoughts at any occasion were of power and money, concerned only with keeping the old man alive long enough to achieve his own ends said, "That, younger brother, is none of your business."

THREE -- Leaving Sunset

Bozeman Montana was usually a quiet town. Tucked in between Livingston and Belgrade it was home to the University of Montana. Surrounded on all sides by National Forest, afforded the daily beauty of the majestic Rocky Mountains, combined with the presence of nearby hot springs the city offered college students and tourists alike health spas and ski-resorts virtually year round. So although not a great metropolis of a city the residents there were moderately wealthy by the standards of the day.

In the heart of downtown Bozeman stood the Collier Bank Building. Most people gave it hardly a second glance on passing. Quite a few of the towns citizens did their banking there. If they had charge accounts in the local stores, car loans or mortgages, more times than not the eventual end point of their monthly payments was the Collier Bank.

Sun down comes fast in the mountains. The sun will be shining as if it were noon and there were hours of daylight left, then you notice the light dim as though a cloud had covered the sun. If you look up you will see that in fact it is the sun itself which has passed behind the mountains and just that suddenly it is twilight. Only minutes later the sky has darkened and night arrives.

This was a day much like that. Another peaceful Sunday evening, the townsfolk winding down and settling in to rest up for another busy week of living come Monday morning.

Although there was no one officially scheduled to be in the building at this time of day other than the lone security guard seated behind his desk just inside the large double glass doors, which opened off the sidewalk during business hours to let the customers in or out, this evening there were three impromptu visitors inside. Two who had signed in at the desk and one who had entered via more private means, wanting no official awareness of his intrusion.

The old man sitting at the computer terminal in the private office wing of the banks Board of Directors was one of those who had signed in with the guard at the front entrance as per regulations. He could have entered the building at any time without seeking any ones permission had he chosen to do so being the President and major stock holder of the company. He generally did things by the book, expecting no less of himself than he did from his employees. So he had signed the register, and assured the guard he would be leaving before his shift was over. Still he was nervous about conducting this clandestine business, and would not be doing so had he thought he could have accomplished the task undiscovered during regular business hours. That was not to be; there were too many forces gathered against him. The people he had been able to trust in his life were all dead now. Those few remaining who might have cared for him did not; they knew only avarice, cowardice, and need.

They knew little of love.

He was nearly finished downloading to his laptop from the banks hard drives the information he had come here to acquire when he heard a noise coming from the hallway outside the office he was using. When he realized the source of the sound coming from further down the hall, he distinguished it to be from the elevator doors closing and guessed the guard was coming to let him know it was time for shift change, to remind him to check out of the building before he left for the night. Not wanting to keep the guard from getting home to his family, in addition to being in a hurry himself, the old man quickly completed his task and shut down the banks computers. Before he closed the laptop, he inserted a floppy disk and copied the information just acquired onto the floppy. Then on the spur of the moment, or possibly because when he had gone back to school to study computers, so he would not become a dinosaur in the banking business, his instructors had pounded into his head repeatedly "always make a backup copy", he made another copy. Then (just in case) he made one more.

Looking about, as if someone might possibly be observing, he lifted the inside liner of the case holding his personal computer and hid one of the disks in the compartment there, then re-secured the liner, knowing the that copy of the files was now safe from discovery short of the valise being disassembled. Then he took two pre-stamped envelopes from the desk drawer, addressed one to his lawyer, and sealed the second disk in the envelope. Putting the last disk in the other envelope he sealed it and stuffed the envelope inside his shirt pocket. He had one more task to perform before he could leave however.

Rising from the computer terminal he had occupied for the most of the evening, since his attorney had left the building, he walked through the connecting door and into his own office. Intending to depart by the same route, he left the door open as he crossed over to the desk he normally resided at during business hours and sat down. He opened his lap top, took the phone off the receiver sitting on the corner of his desk and placed it in the modem built into the case of his PC, turned on the computer, and called up his card file to locate the party he wished to contact. Once this was done he dialed the number which connected him long distance to another computer in a private bank in Chicago Illinois. Then after entering the security code authorizing that computer to recognize him as an agent of Collier Bank, he downloaded certain account information from his laptop along with instructions to withdraw funds from those accounts and re-deposit them into a single numbered account under a security-coded name which he then manually typed into the key pad of his laptop. The distant banks computer received the account data and filed it for next business day processing. All that was required now was to give his attorney the list containing the account numbers and codes. He wrote these on a slip of paper placed that in an envelope, addressed it to his lawyer and put a stamp on it. He could mail it on the way out as there was a mail drop on the sidewalk in front of the bank. Once it was received, his attorney's firm would then contact the bank in Chicago to ascertain that the transactions were legal and binding, and arrange for the funds and any proceeds generated therefrom be placed in trust for the old mans grandson, William Frederick Morrow. Once this was done the arrangements would be completed and beyond recall or change. Having accomplished his purpose he disconnected the phone from the modem and hung it back on the receiver.

As he was closing the case of the laptop the man who had been standing unobtrusively in the door during the last of these proceedings spoke up.

"Well, Bill. I guess I'm not the only one working late tonight then," he said. Then ask, "Am I?"

The old man started, and hurriedly locked the latches of his lap top carryall, surprised as much by the presence of the speaker as by the unexpected sound of his voice in the room.

Upon recovering from his alarm he replied, "Seems you're right on that one Mark. You always do have an amazing grasp of the obvious. I thought I was alone here. I should have known I can never put one over on you." The other laughed but from the sound of it and from having known him for the last fifteen years of his life, tolerating his presence only because of his usefulness as a bank employee, Bill knew there was little or no sincerity in the man.

As quickly as it came the laughter left his face and Mark ask, "Just exactly what are you doing here this late on a Sunday night, Bill?"

Bill replied as he stood to leave, "As you know. I'm retiring this week. I'm leaving for Virginia Friday to stay with my daughter and her husband for a while and was just closing out the last of my accounts so I wouldn't have to come in tomorrow and do it." He continued, "I want to spend the rest of the week packing and making sure the movers get the house emptied so the Realtors can get it on the market. I have no intentions of coming back here, and don't want any loose ends. Don't worry yourself. You'll be in line for my job soon enough. As much as I hate to admit it you're probably the only person employed here who's qualified for the job. None of my offspring are ambitious enough to tackle running this place. They can hardly manage their personal check books well enough to spend the money I give them without screwing that up. They damn sure aren't going to do anything that involves earning money." He went on to say, "Thirty-five years is long enough. I'm tired."

Mark, with more sarcasm in his tone this time, laughed and said, "That's you Bill. A tired old man." Then questioned, "Say, you didn't run into anyone else up here tonight did you?"

"No," Bill replied, asking, "Why?"

"Oh. Nothing."

"It has to be something; or you wouldn't have ask."

"Well," Mark said reluctantly. "I'm not sure, but I think somebody has been trying to access my accounts. I found log in times on my terminal that I know aren't mine, and no one I've ask says they were using it." He went on worriedly, "you know, it just kind of makes you suspicious when things like that happen in a bank."

Now it was Bills turn to laugh; for more reasons than he voiced aloud. He had accessed the mans accounts that very evening, not only to make a personal inspection of them, but also to make a copy of them on floppy disk, and insure that the files did not somehow mysteriously get erased in the investigation which would follow when he turned the disk over to the banks board of directors in the morning. He had in addition changed the access codes to insure that Mark was locked out the banks financial records without the presence of the board of directors, who were not yet entirely aware of the mans dishonesty.

"You see what I mean," he said. "Thirty-five years is too long in this kind of business. I want to go somewhere I can trust people. Where someone can make a simple mistake in addition without being accused of trying to rob the bank. This is no way for people to live Mark. I'm out of here."

With that as a final comment he turned and walked past the man, saying only, "Good luck," as he passed and walked down the hall toward the elevator. Then catching the elevator doors before they could close, he leaned into the hallway and called out, "Mark. Be sure to let the guard know when you leave!"

When he reached the lobby Bill walked over to the desk and leaned down to sign out of the building. He noticed that Mark had not signed in. That was good, it meant he would not be signing out so would not notice that Bill had signed his attorney in as a guest when he had arrived. He had no desire to have the banks nosey Vice President taking note that he had been conducting some late night legal affairs. No need to make anyone suspicious until after the fact.

He reached out to shake the guards hand and said, "Tommy. It's been good knowing you. By the way, Mark is upstairs. He must have forgotten to sign in. I just thought I'd let you know."

Tommy scratched his head under his cap and said, "Now that's funny, I don't remember him coming in Mr. Withers. Oh well, maybe I should be retiring too. What do you think?"

"Probably not a bad idea, Tom," Bill said as he inspected the mans pale complexion, likely a result of working nights and sleeping during the day. "Go south and get some sun. Get out of this cold."

"I'm going to do that real soon sir. You betcha," the guard replied, as he wrote down the time and initialed the log book.

Putting the book back into the center drawer of the desk, he said, "Now you enjoy yourself and have a good life, Mr. Withers." They walked to the entrance together, and Tom opened the door and let the other man onto the street.

The old man paused in the door, reached into his coat pocket and removed an envelope. He held it out to the guard and ask, "Tom. Do you think you could hold on to this for me? Don't open it, just keep it safe."

The guard took the object from the other and said hesitantly, "Well..., sure Mr. Withers, I can put it in the lock box right here at the guard station."

"No, no," the old man interjected. "That won't do. I don't want it in the bank. Take it home with you and keep it there, don't tell anyone about it. OK?"

Tommy who liked the simple routine of his job at the bank, which never involved any excitement or unexpected surprises, was still pleased by this new assignment. No ones life should be completely without adventure. Besides he liked Mr. Withers and would not want the old gentleman to disapprove of him.

"All right Mr. Withers. Whatever you say; but how will I get it back to you?"

The old man smiled, pleased by his long time employees loyalty. "Don't worry about that. Just keep it. If anything happens to me, or if he comes to your house to claim it, give it to the man whose name is written on the envelope." Then he emphasized, "Don't, under any circumstances, give it to anyone else!"

The guard tucked the envelope in his coat pocket, let the old man out, then locked the door again. As he did, he watched Mr. Withers walk down the side walk and drop a letter into the mail box at the corner of the building, then start across the street to where his car was parked. Tom then returned to his seat and sat back down to watch the rest of the late night movie before his relief arrived.

As he looked out through the glass in the doors to see if the banks President had reached his car safely a black sedan raced away from the curbside in front of the building. As it sped off, someone in the rear passenger seat tossed an object, which was about the size of a cigarette carton, out of the window.

* * *

The explosion rocked the building and blew out the glass doors. The guard was thrown from his chair and landed against the wall under the arch which led from the foyer to the tellers windows in the next room. This saved his life as the ceiling above the desk collapsed and demolished desk, chair and part of the floor beneath them. To add to this indignity, the fire system activated and drenched the man in a downpour of rusty water from long unused pipes in the ceiling. Still partially deaf from the concussion he did not hear the sound of the sirens as the fire department and police cars began to arrive at the scene.

FOUR -- Apporaching Sunrise

The street looks barren, the old man thought to himself. He had long since ceased thinking to others. He had learned that others think only to themselves; especially the women. Women think to themselves; that is why men do not understand them. But then, he reflected, men do not understand death, they only die.

He stepped into the road. Stopping, he turned to the west and followed it with his eyes until asphalt met sky. He continued walking, not looking to the east, knowing there was nothing different to see in either direction.

An attentive observer would note that he must have been a mountain of a man in his youth. Although the years had worn at the old man, thinning his flesh and weathering his features, the frame which carried this gray haired, well dressed old gentleman was still a massive structure.

Reaching the walk on the opposite side of the road he paced the half a block to the bus station. The driver had made it clear that they would only be stopping here for thirty minutes and anyone not back on the bus at the end of that time would be left behind.

He sat down on the scarred wooden bench in front of the terminal, leaned back and put his hands behind his head to wait the few remaining ticks of the clock left before departure time; sitting there in that relaxed position apparently little different from the hundreds who passed time here and then vanished down the road.

From inside the building he could hear the sound of a radio. Some local news caster was discussing the explosion in Boseman Montana, which had erupted at the headquarters building of Collier Bank, one of the nations largest banking firms, with another of his ilk who was apparently more interested in complaining because the perpetrators had failed to escape with any money and had not left behind a list of causalities and only minor property damage to report. In addition to this indignity no one had been apprehended. Apparently the would be robbers, expecting the guard to be alone, had panicked upon finding the bank occupied by some employees conducting some late business and had tossed their bomb, probably intended for the vault, out of the car as they fled the scene and the device had detonated when it landed on the sidewalk in front of the bank. The reporter sounded as if he thought it rather pointless to even bother covering the story. It seemed to the old man that more and more today people were less interested in what had actually transpired in the world than in knowing what was destroyed and who was killed or maimed while it was happening.

He lifted himself painfully from his seat, having stiffened up from sitting in one position too long on the hard bench, and queued up to the line of people waiting to re-board the bus, almost missing the next comments by the news men, pausing in mid step and turning back to hear better what was being said, when he heard mention that coincidentally the Maysville branch of the Collier Bank had been broken into just the night before. No money had been reported missing but it appeared that certain financial records had been tampered with and destroyed.

I will not be noticed, he thought. I don't exist, not here. No one has acknowledged that I exist here. But how could they; for I have never believed in this town. Only the road. There are no roads but this one. Soon it must find the sea, and then? Well, perhaps I too will find the sea. Maybe I will find something, or someone will find me.

It was raining in the next town the old man passed through.

And the next.

* * *

The bus continued on toward the coast. Moving with that floating motion which old busses have. Making you feel as if you were on a boat and not running down the highway at fifty five or sixty miles per hour. The old man sat watching through the window as the country fled outside the thin pane of glass. He had forgotten, after spending so many years out west how beautiful southern Indiana was, with it's rolling hills and stands of trees still untouched by loggers after one hundred or more years of industrial civilization.

There is always a separation between man and the reality of the universe, he mused. Why must men separate themselves from all that is worth being tied to? There was a time when I was my own separation from the truth. Like everyone I only saw what I believed and never really believed most of what was there for me to see. Now that I believe, I am too old to act, or so old all that is left for me is acting.

Why must I ride in this excuse for air conditioned comfort, he wondered. Why can't I feel the air on my face to tell me I am not so old I am no longer living? This is no place for me, I have been here all of my life. Now I need to be a part of living. I have been dead and now I must live before I die again.

Perhaps I am wrong. Maybe it is true that old men should not be so concerned with living. I should be sitting before a fireplace remembering what I once was and not trying to be what I never can.

The old man dozed, his head leaning against the window, as the bus continued it's scheduled journey, and he continued his unscheduled one. He was awakened with a start by the bus slowing as the driver applied the brakes, tilting the old mans head down from its resting place against the glass and banging his chin against his chest. He woke from dreams of being in a room strapped to a bed where men he thought he should recognize but could not, for the lights behind them and the blurring of his own vision which he could not account for, continually assaulted him with questions about where he had put the money. The nightmare had beleaguered him in his sleep since being caught in the blast just outside the bank in Montana.

The old man could only vaguely recall the events immediately following the explosion. He remembered the ambulance ride to the hospital, the lights and indistinct images of medical attendants hovering over him as he was being treated for the cuts and abrasions caused by flying glass and the subsequent impact with the pavement as he landed on the street in front of the bank, after being thrown through the air by the concussion from the blast.

He had somehow, astonishingly, through it all, managed to hang on to his brief case containing the laptop. He did remember insisting--after being taken to the hospital--that he would accept no further medical treatment, threatening to pull the IV from his arm, unless it was brought to him immediately. He being the rather big frog in that particular pond it was done as he ask.

The next day sitting up in his bed, after having hospital mush for breakfast, he was questioned by the police about the bombing, but could tell them nothing more than was already known from examination at the scene and reports of the only other witness. That being the guard at the desk. He was puzzled when the police did not mention questioning Mark, but thought no more of it at the time, and didn't himself mention the mans presence at the bank the night before.

In the afternoon of that same day he had been released. Two of his sons had taken him from the hospital, then driven to Ennis Lake eighty miles to the southwest where the older son James had a summer house which sat isolated on ten acres of tree shrouded land along the western shore of the lake.

Awake now, mentally back aboard the bus once again thinking they had arrived at the next stop, he adjusted his clothing and prepared to get up and go out for a sandwich to lunch on before they moved on again. As the old man rose, he glanced out the window at the back of the bus and noticed the lights flashing behind them.

For a moment he panicked and thought about running, then had to laugh at himself. Where would an old man possibly run to out here amid nothing but farm fields and corn; in the middle of Indiana? How would he escape from armed policemen many years his junior?

Comprehending there was nothing to do but wait he sat back down and composed himself to face the inevitable, as he did he questioned how they could possibly have found him. He had departed the estate in Montana so suddenly there had been no time to plan anything other than getting on a bus and heading east. The old man had not expected to be in Montana when his family learned that he had sold all his stock shares and moved the money to an account at another bank where they could not get their hands on it.

Two of his sons had learned of his activities somehow (He suspected that Mark, the banks vice president, was in collusion with them.) and, not being aware that the deed was already done, had hired his murder. Planning to make it look like a failed bank robbery attempt. How they had known of his presence at the bank on a Sunday night was another mystery; again he suspected Mark. The old man would have remained ignorant of all this had he not overheard the two discussing the subject while believing their father asleep in the other room.

He had confronted his oldest son, James the next morning, causing a violent argument between himself and his two sons. They had both vehemently denied having any involvement in the bombing, and accused the old man of being crazy.

James had eventually threatened to call in a psychiatrist and have his father declared incompetent (so they could wrest control of the money from him, the old man could only assume) for his own good of course. He had told them it was too late for that; because the money was already out of all their hands. Including his personal funds. James had gone into a rage at this news and as the old man was attempting to go out the door had snatched up an ashtray and bludgeoned his father in the head with it. That was the point where his memory failed. Of the several days following this event, the old man could recall nothing. He awoke in a bed not his own with white suited attendants in the room moving about business which apparently did not concern him as they did not approach his bed side. He could not determine by their actions if they were in turn cognizant of his awareness or not.

He lay for a while observing the endless comings and goings of the people about him. He thought there might be others in the room with him, residing in beds similar to his own but could not be positive. When he attempted to look about the old man found he lacked the strength to lift his head. Eventually he dozed, not sure how long he slept, and likely would not have awakened until the next day but for hearing the sound of a voice in the room which he recognized.

His son James approached the bed side followed by Phillip, as they did the old man heard Phillip ask, "Is he awake yet Jim?"

James replied sourly, "Not from the looks of it, and don't call me 'Jim' it's demeaning! How many times do I have to tell you? You sound like some kind of working class slob."

"Oh, stuff it!" Phillip snapped at his brother, shaking his head in disgust. Then continued with more than a trace of sarcasm, "You seem to forget where we came from. If Dad hadn't bought the land out here when he did and made enough money logging to invest in the bank and the stocks he has, you and I would have grown up the sons of a saw mill worker in Indiana! Probably be working there ourselves; getting drunk on Saturday Night and chasing around a house full of kids all day Sunday with a hangover instead of sipping Champaign in a ski lodge!"

James, looking around to insure they were unobserved walked closer to the old mans side and poked him with a finger, testing for some response which might indicate consciousness, then pointed out, "Well that's exactly not the way we were raised, but I can damn well assure you, if we don't find out what the old fart did with the money we just might end our days working in a saw mill. If we don't end up taking the blame and going to jail for blowing up the bank trying to kill him!" he continued. "It's a fortunate turn of events for us that the idiots who ever they were screwed it up. Whether they were attempting to rob the bank or actually there to kill the old man."

Shaking his head in confusion once again, amazed at the tenacity of his father, James concluded, "I don't know how he got the money out of there without us finding out. Mark was supposed to stay on top of things and let us know if the time was right to make our move."

Phillip, realizing they were not going to get any information from their father today, and having been reminded of his thirst by the mention of liquor, concluded he had better things to do with his time than stand and gaze at an unconscious old man said, "Look James, let him rest a few more days, maybe he'll wake up by then and we can get him to tell us where the money is."

"Yea. Yea, you're right," his brother muttered uncertainly, not wanting to leave the old man where he could not keep a constant eye on him, but realizing he had little choice at the moment.

The old man heard them still bickering with one another as they left the room. He had wanted to get up and leave right then but still could not find the strength. Some time later, he did not know if it were hours or days, he recalled stumbling down the hall and out into the sun light. Then walking toward the road in front of the building he had been housed in. After that his memory faded until he had awakened on a bus (not the one he was on now) dressed in a new suit he did not have any recollection of purchasing. Through it all he found him self still in possession of his lap top. In a blur of vaguely remembered days, he had since changed busses and routes several times. No one should have been able to track him through the seemingly endless parade of small towns he had traversed since the outset of his journey. He was beginning to feel he had engineered a clean getaway, having deliberately chosen this bus because of the route it traveled believing no one would possibly think to halt every bus on these lonely roads. Now it was starting to look as if that may have been a mistaken confidence.

As the bus came to a complete stop along the side of the highway, he reached down and picked up the briefcase he had earlier deposited under his seat. The old man did not want to loose what was inside before he had the opportunity to use it for the purposes he had intended when he set out on this journey. More than either of those wishes he certainly had no desire to harm any of these innocent people. He knew with a certain dread that he would if it were necessary. It was that important to him to protect the valise. He also knew that if the situation became completely hopeless he would just as certainly destroy the contents of his satchel. For here were materials and knowledge which represented vast greed. With it he could restore many years of injustice. He would either use it for his own purposes, or see to it that no one else ever gained access to it again. Once he had done this it would be beyond the grasp of those whose greedy hands he had taken it from. As for himself, it would no longer matter.

Noting that they were local police, likely from one of the last few towns the bus had recently passed through, taking as a good sign they were not State Troopers, the old man watched warily through the window as one policeman stepped from the squad car and posted himself at the rear of the bus, where he could not only watch the door but was also afforded a view through the rear window.

There were two officers. The other one came forward to the door on the right side and motioned for the driver to open the door, then stepped up into the stairwell and turned to survey the passengers. Without taking his eyes from the rear compartment where the old man sat, the officer addressed the driver.

"Pick up any new passengers lately?" he ask.

"No sir," the driver replied as he checked the controls of the vehicle for the third time since pulling over. He was clearly nervous, and the policeman was aware of this.

"Do you have a manifest which shows the embarkation point of your riders?" he queried.

"No sir," the driver answered, once again tugging on the parking brake handle as if unsure it was secured.

Still looking at the passengers the officer let out a weary sigh and said, "That's too bad." In a louder and more commanding voice he addressed the people in the bus. "I'm going to have to ask each of you to let me check your tickets, and have you show some ID. It will be much easier if you all just assemble outside next to the road. That way you can stretch your legs and get some air while we go through with this."

Grumbling and whispering among themselves as they did so the passengers of the bus obediently filed outside and lined up as the policeman had requested. The old man heard some of them asking each other, and no one in particular what the problem could be. Or who on the bus the police could be there to arrest. He watched as the people looked circumspectly at their fellow passengers and chuckled to himself as he noted the various levels of suspicion which formed on their faces as their gazes fell respectively about the assembly. He noted that not one of them gave him more than a cursory appraisal before moving on to some more likely suspect.

The old man waited in line with the rest, wearing what he perceived to be that look of innocent patience old people often had on their faces when confronted with the antics of a younger generation whom they were sure really had no idea of how the world operated, but would certainly be willing to explain it to them if given half a chance. When the officer confronted him the old man dutifully handed over his bus ticket along with an ID. The officer glanced at the ticket, then studied the identification the old man had given him as if finding surprises there.

He gave the old man his best "local cop piercing stare" look and ask, "Jack Brennan. That right?"

"Yes sir," the old man answered, with sincerity practically written on his voice. That was not his name. It was the name on the card he had given to the officer, and thirty-five years the banking business teaches a person to give sincere answers to those who want to believe.

After once again studying the identification card, the officer said, as he motioned toward the back of the bus, "Mind if we step over here in the shade and talk for a minute, Jack?"

Hesitating as he read the name tag on the officers shirt the old man answered, "Not at all Officer... Bensen. I've got nothing but time." They walked around to the other side of the bus, the policeman prudently staying one step behind the old man, while motioning to his partner with a nod of his head where they were going. When Officer Bensen put out his hand to shake the old man instinctively took it and allowed himself to be introduced.

Surprised at the strength of the old mans grip the policeman said, "Bensen. William. Bill for short." Then ask, "Bonded Courier, eh?"

"Yes sir," the old man replied (he wasn't but that was also what the card said).

"A little old for the job aren't you, Jack?"

"I've been at it a long time. I still need the money, I'm not old enough to retire just yet." He was, but did not look his age.

"Well listen," Bensen said. "I thought I'd better let you in on what's up here after I saw your ID and all. You being who you are you might be able to help us out. Or you might become a target out here. In either case, you should keep your eyes open."

"So. Officer Bensen, if I may ask?" the old man probed. "What event has precipitated a search of this bus, and its passengers, out here in the middle of a corn field?"

"Well sir," Bensen replied. "We don't have much of a bank back up the road in Maysville; but the one we do have was robbed this morning right after they opened up for business. The fellow that did it got away in a car. We found that about twenty-three miles back with a busted tire, you might have seen it on the side as you passed."

"No. I can't say I did," the old man denied. "I must have been asleep when we went by."

"The car was listed stolen over in Illinois day before yesterday," Bensen continued. "So that's no help now anyway. We figure the guy dumped it after he blew the tire, and either hitched a ride or stopped someone and took another car. More than likely he hitched. We're just trying to stop who we can until the state boys get some road blocks up, and do a thorough search. Of course by then he'll be long gone."

The old man, looking as serious as he could said, "I certainly do appreciate being taken into your confidence Officer Bensen. I assure you, if any suspicious characters get on the bus between here and the Ohio line I'll get to a phone and call for help."

The policeman ask, "Are you armed Jack?"

"Only with pepper spray," the old man responded. I don't need to kill anyone in my line of work. Just being able to get away is enough to ensure the safety of my consignment." Facing the back of the bus Officer Bensen caught sight of a signal from his partner and told the old man the search was ended and he could get back aboard, which he did.

As the driver pulled the bus back onto Highway 50 and once more drove east toward Ohio, the old man settled back and considered the events which had just transpired. The announcers on the radio he had overheard while waiting to re-board the bus at it's last stop had not said anything about a robbery, only a break in. They had mentioned no suspect or getaway car. It was entirely possible the police had been told this and were looking for someone whom they believed to be the robber. It was just as possible they were looking for him, and were using that as a cover story to pull traffic off the road for the search. Clearly he would not use the Jack Brennan ID again. It might not be compromised but he could afford to take no chances.

He considered his options a while longer, meditating to the hum of the tires on the pavement. Deciding he would get off the bus at the next stop and arrange other transport eased his anxieties and he settled back and was soon asleep in his seat.

The passengers in the seats nearest him watched warily as the old man struggled with his nightmares of shadowy faces and shouted questions about money.

FIVE -- Near Dark

The doctor looked apprehensively up and down the lane, checking for witnesses, noticeably more concerned with getting them and their captive out of sight than with hurrying his patient in for treatment. Only when he had satisfied his need for secrecy did the Doctor turn to the task of tending the old man on the make do stretcher. He quickly hustled James and Phillip through a side door of his home, down a hallway and into a private surgery at the back of the house.

"Bring him over here boys," he said. Indicating the operating table which occupied the center of the room. "Lay him up on this table, so we can get his cloths off and examine him." The brothers complied, lifting the old man and carrying him to the table, where they stretched him out on his back. The doctor directing the move like a gang foreman with an inexperienced crew; going on to instruct them in the removal of a prone persons clothing, until the old man lay exhibited beneath the over head light like an autopsy specimen.

As he moved to the sink and began scrubbing his hands the doctor pointed across the room to a bench against the wall and said, "Go on over there and sit down, there's nothing you can do to help now." Turning off the water, he pulled on a pair of rubber gloves, and fixed a cloth mask in place over his mouth and nose. Then, after listening to his patients heart for a moment, he began an examination of his head.

Glancing up quickly at the brothers, then back down as he moved around the table to get a look at the other side of the old mans head he ask, "So. Exactly how did your father sustain this injury, James? You weren't too clear on the phone."

Rather abashed, or at least seeming so, James replied. "Phillip and I were arguing. I threw an ashtray across the room and it hit him in the head. It's all rather stupid, and embarrassing. I didn't want to take him to the hospital and have to explain the whole mess to them; so I called you." The doctor doubted the story but was willing to go along with it for the purpose of the examination. There being nothing illegal about bringing the old man to him for treatment, it might later be viewed as ill advised, should there be an inquiry about the incident, but he could cover himself on that score too.

"OK then, one of you help me roll this table into the X-ray room. He should have an MRI scan, but I'm not set up for that here. As long as there are no complications; this will suffice."

A short while later, as the doctor removed the X-ray photographs from the developer and hung them on the viewing glass, the old man now in a semiconscious state aroused even more. He began to mumble. As he did the brothers rushed to his side to listen.

"What's he saying?" James asked excitedly leaning even nearer, while elbowing Phillip aside as if not wanting to share with him any forthcoming news which might escape from the prison of their fathers delirious mind. As he did this they heard the old man whisper, as might someone in a crowded room carrying on a private conversation; loud enough to be heard across a table but not so vocal that a casual listener would be drawn to eavesdrop. "We have to go east Fred. We have to get to the ocean!"

SIX -- Approaching Sunrise

The young man sat on the park bench, looking at a newspaper. He was wearing a red flannel shirt, blue jeans and cowboy boots. Virtually identical dress to most of the men out in public in Bedford, Indiana on this sunny Thursday afternoon. He was attempting to blend in with those to whom this was a natural surrounding. The young man may have believed he was succeeding. He wasn't really.

The bench was just a wooden seat, very like many others in similar parks throughout the mid western United States. The walk wound it's way about the grounds in a fashion little different from most; adulterated with a few touches of originality here and there by some industrious city worker. These innovations remaining in place only so long as they were overlooked by those in positions to decide what it was the public wanted done with their tax money. These decisions being made, of course, without consulting the public.

Across the walk the old man sat, watching as the other mans camouflage failed to fool not only himself but the native passersby as well. They were certain to spot any stranger instantly. In such places as small town Indiana you were not a native unless your parents as well as yourself were born and raised there. The old man knew he would be spotted as out of place just as quickly as would the young stranger had anyone cared to note his presence. He also knew that old men were for the most part invisible to those around them who were younger in years. It was true that they were taken as harmless, and received little attention through lack of "threat appeal" but he believed that a greater part of such anonymity came as a result of those younger than he not wishing to behold what they were themselves becoming. As if refusing to see their own future could prevent it's arrival.

The young man closed the paper, stood, tucked it under his arm, and walked toward the bench where the old man sat. As the other passed, the old man reached out and caught his sleeve. Surprised, as much by the sudden realization of the old mans presence as the unexpected tug upon his jacket, he missed a step, tripped and nearly fell. The old man stood, took a firmer grip of the others arm, and began walking along side him.

"Keep moving, we're being followed," he said before his captive could protest this move. The young man tensed in panic as he looked back over his shoulder and saw the two policemen walking behind them along the path. The old man pulled on his arm to keep him moving.

"Act as if we know each other," he said. "There's a curve in the path just ahead of us. When we get around that it will put the trees between us and anyone who might be watching." He waited to be sure the other man was listening and comprehending what was being said to him before continuing.

"When we're out of sight I'm going to hand you an envelope. Put it in your shirt pocket, and keep moving until we're out on the street." As they moved behind the trees the old man looked back quickly to be sure they were shielded, then handed the envelope to his new found companion. The other man looked at him as if trying to decide whether the old man were crazy, or if he himself had lost his grasp of reality. Then apparently decided that under these circumstances it probably did not matter much which proved to be the case, accepted the item from the other and as surreptitiously as possible pocketed it and continued walking.

When they came to the other side of the park and turned onto the sidewalk the young man turned to his abductor and ask, "So what's your game Pop? Where to now?"

The old man did not answer immediately, just kept pulling the other along while looking from side to side as if seeking a particular address. He spotted a likely looking cafe a short distance down the block, hurriedly directed the young man through he entrance, then led the way to a booth in the back. After successfully sending the waitress away for coffee the old man once again addressed his unwilling ally.

"What's your name son?" he ask.

"Fred," replied the youth.

"I've always liked that name," the old man said. "Fred. Has a strong feel to it." He repeated it once again, "Fred." Then again, more resolutely as if tasting a newfound delicacy, "Fred!"

"OK Fred, if that's your name. I'm Bill Withers. That's not what it says on my drivers license today, but that is my name."

Bill took a sip of his coffee, looked the younger man directly in the eye and questioned, "Fred you didn't rob the bank in Maysville yesterday; did you?"

The other smiled as if he had just been complemented and replied, "Now that is a strange question to ask a man you just kidnaped from a public park. Do I look like a bank robber Bill?"

"No. I just thought I'd ask on the off chance. Never mind I'll explain later, if I can. You appeared to be someone in trouble back in the park and the police told me earlier today they were looking for a fellow who had robbed the bank in Maysville. Whatever you have done, and whoever you were trying to hide from; I don't know if those policemen were looking for you, or just patrolling. If I hadn't spotted you when I did and got you out of there they would have you in custody by now, if they wanted you. You were as easy to pick as a red apple on a green apple tree."

The old man continued, "I don't know if anyone is looking for me yet, but if they're not they will be soon enough." He paused a moment then went on. "Answer me this Fred. Do I look like a man who could rob a bank to you?"

"Well Pop... truthfully, I don't think so!"

"I'll tell you what Fred, looks are deceiving. I didn't rob the bank, but I very easily could have if I wanted to." He smiled mischievously and continued, "However, a week ago Sunday I took thirty million dollars from the people who thought they owned one. I also took the account records from the man who actually did steal several millions from that same bank."

There was no longer any doubt. Now Fred knew the old man was crazy. He was about to speak when the waitress came back to the table to take their order, so had to wait until that was done.

Then, before he could say anything, the old man continued, "The records of those accounts are all in that envelope I gave you back in the park."

Fred interrupted now, to ask, "Bill. Why would you steal thirty million dollars, take another mans account records showing where money was hidden, which he had stolen from a bank, and then give it to a stranger you met in a park?"

"That's not the only copy. I still have it with me," the old man answered, taping the side of his briefcase with his index finger. "Anyway just having the account numbers and a code word which will provide access to an account containing that much money won't do you any good." He paused long enough to smile at the younger man across from him then continued explaining. "Besides that it's on a floppy disk. You need a computer and another security code to access the disk."

The young man caught the waitress and ordered more coffee before continuing the conversation, then said, "You still haven't told me why you gave me the key code for this account when we were in the park."

"I was afraid they were after me. If that was the case I didn't want to have it on my possession, and if you had it you still wouldn't have known what it was for and at the worst would have figured you'd had a run in with a nutty old man and simply have thrown it away. There's a piece of paper in the envelope with the disk, it has my attorneys name and address written on it. I was hopeful you might mail the disk to him. If anything happens to me I'd still like you to do that for me, you couldn't get the money anyway, banks just don't hand out millions of dollars to somebody because they know an account number."

Fred exclaimed, "Just a moment ago, when you said you had given me the key, I was thinking this guy is as nutty as a fruit cake, now I'm even less certain of your sanity!"

"Well, I'm not crazy Fred. I'm just desperate, which sometimes amounts to the same thing." The old man scooted his chair back from the table to stretch his legs as he continued, "I'm running from some people who will do almost anything to get that code. They've already blown away the front of a bank, and part of the street it's on, trying to get it. If I can get that disk to my lawyer, he will go to the authorities with the information and this will all be over. I'm not so much concerned about the money I took; It's mine anyway, no one will be able to touch that money, including me. I've put it in a trust for my grand son. I've no intentions of spending the remainder of my life watching my useless sons spend it on foolishness."

The old man wiped his forehead with his hand as if this action could remove the weariness the other saw imprinted there and said, "The other money though, that is a concern. These people will kill to recover it, they know that if they don't stop me they will likely spend quite a few years in jail."

The two men, one at the end of his life, the other at the beginning, finished their breakfast and left the restaurant together. The sun had set while they visited and finished their meals. They walked east along the main street of the town for a distance, the younger having no set destination and the older not sure yet the route he should choose to reach his.

"Fred," the old man said at last. "I haven't been able to contact my attorney, I've called his office several times, only to have an operator come on the line to tell me there is no such listing." He stopped in mid-stride, gazing down at the sidewalk as if the answer to this enigma might be written there, then continued talking when he noticed Fred had stopped and was waiting for him to go on. "I don't understand this, but I clearly can't go back to Montana. I've also tried calling my daughters house in Virginia, I can't get through there either, so I'm just going to have to go there in person. Her and her husband Peter will be able to help me. They're the only ones left whom I can trust."

Fred, already sensing where the conversation was headed started his new friend walking again so they would not attract any undue attention. Two strangers standing in the street after dark in small towns in southern Indiana was not the norm. He ask sincerely, "OK Bill, what can I do to help?"

The old man, pleased by this offer, which had saved him from asking, replied, "I need to rent a car and someone to help me drive it. Hell I might even need you to fight the hooligans for me if they catch up to us!" As he said this he led them to the entrance of a hotel they were passing, opened the door and went inside. Fred followed him in.

As they approached the counter the old man turned and queried, "Do you mind sharing a room? With two beds of course!"

Fred laughed and in a gesture of friendship clapped the other on the back, answering cheerfully, "Not at all Pops; not at all."

* * *

They awoke the next morning, checked out of the hotel and returned to the same cafe they had stopped in the day before and had breakfast. Feeling more comfortable, having gone through the night unchallenged, and being served in the restaurant with no different attention than the other customers, the pair relaxed and began to plan their agenda for the day.

"I saw a car rental down from the hotel on the way over here," Fred offered as an opener. "You wait here and I'll go see what they have, that way no one will know were together if somebody comes around asking; what do you think?"

As he placed his brief case on the table and opened it the old man replied, "That's a fine idea Fred." He removed a wallet from the case, took some money from it and handed the other several hundred dollars in twenty dollar bills, then closed the case. "Here, this should be enough, we'll have to leave a cash deposit, I don't want either of us using a credit card. Those can be traced." He then ask, "Do you have a drivers license with a picture on it Fred?"

"Sure," Fred answered with a quizzical look on his face. "Why?"

"Let me have it," the old man urged slyly, as he once again opened the case and removed an item which looked much like the hand held scanners used in stores to read the bar codes on objects too large to put up on the counters, unrolled the small wire connected to it and plugged that into a receptacle on the lap top. When Fred handed him his license the old man placed it on the table with the picture showing, then activated the computer and slowly scanned the document with the device. The screen lit up with the words:

"PROCESSING IMAGE - PLEASE WAIT."

The old man handed Fred his license back, then separated the lap top from the bottom of the case revealing a small one page printer built into housing of the PC. He smiled knowingly at the younger man and said, "This little computer outfit here cost more than most people make in a year. I've got it set up to do things even the manufacturer doesn't know it will do." Then he instructed, "Do me a favor; run across the street to the hardware store and pick up a couple of sheets of that self adhesive plastic laminate and a pair of scissors, it's going to take a while to process your picture so we can get a passable image for an ID. But don't worry, those things never look like the person they're supposed to anyway. This will fool the bureau we're going to say issued it!" Continuing to be surprised by the eccentricity his new companion, Fred shook his head in amazement as he got up and left to get the items requested by the old man.

When he returned the old man handed him a drivers license issued by the state of Kansas. It had Fred's picture on it and said his name was now Thomas McKinnley, and that he resided on Longfellow Lane in Kansas City, Kansas. In addition, was a business license naming Thomas McKinnley as a sales representative of Mavis International: Wholesale Purveyors of Fine Quality Beef, Pork and Poultry Products.

As Fred stared in wonder at these unlikely items, the old man said, "Now then Fred, we just cover these with the plastic, trim them up nice and neat, then use them to get a car. Just say your company car broke down and you have to get to Ohio tonight; they'll never question it, not with you handing them that much cash."

* * *

The old man sighed and leaned back in the plush seat of the rented Buick Roadmaster. It had taken them most of the morning to arrange for the rental and leave Bedford Indiana. Now they were headed east on US 50. Fred was driving, he had shed his country boy disguise and was now sporting a more casual attire comprised of brown leather loafers, khaki pants and a white polo shirt. The old man thought he looked far more presentable and stylish in his new outfit, with his light brown hair freshly cut and shampooed, all of which had been taken care of while they waited for the car to be prepped for them by the rental agency.

As the old man relaxed in the seat and closed his eyes almost drifting off to sleep he said, "Fred take us east until you see the sign for Brownstown city limits, just before you get into town you'll cross State Road 135. When you do turn south and head for Kentucky. I was born and grew up in this part of the state, so I"m pretty familiar with the roads. I think we should take the old back roads and stay off the main highways for a while."

Fred glanced quickly at his passenger, smiled and ask, "Why go south Bill? I thought you wanted to get to Virginia?"

As he finally did fall into slumber the old man muttered a reply. "I do but I told them... I mean the policeman I was going east so I think it will be safer to go south instead." Fred relaxed and watched as the road flowed past the vehicle. This was one of the nicer cars he had driven, and driving at all was much better than hitching his way across the country, so he determined to relax and go with whatever came along during his unexpected journey with this strange old man.

As he continued to drive Fred became concerned when the old man began to struggle in his sleep as if being tormented in his dream by demons unseen to his companion; who was a part of, but did not yet share the dream.

SEVEN -- Near Dark

Mark Toveson was not by nature a physically courageous man, and the events of the last few weeks had taxed what small bravery he possessed to it's limit. He paced anxiously back and forth across the floor of the living room of his modest home in Bozeman, while waiting for the newly infamous Withers brothers to arrive. Thinking he saw headlights coming up the drive, he glanced out the picture window and saw himself reflected in the darkened glass. He was short and stocky, built much like many of the wrestlers he often watched on television on Wednesday nights. His face was deeply tanned from exposure to the sun and wind, a result of Marks having spent much of his off time over the years on the ski slopes of nearby Bridger Bowl Ski Area. The most remarkable parts of his features were the incongruous vividly blue eyes which seemed to lance outward like twin laser beams when he aimed his gaze at a person.

He was still staring through the window when the brothers actually did pull into the drive. As the pair stepped from the green Porshe 900, he noted again how closely both resembled their father, tall large framed men, with light brown hair and deep brown eyes which lent an impression of intelligence. Although in the case of the sons Mark wasn't too sure the appearance spoke as much truth as it did with the father. Mark ushered the two men in and hurriedly closed the door against the cold Montana evening.

"Do you have it?" he asked apprehensively as he turned from the door to face his guests.

"Yes," James answered, sitting down on the sofa uninvited as if they were old friends who often visited each others homes. "Let me tell you, I think I could have pulled his teeth with less effort! The old fart didn't want to turn it loose, even in his sleep. I finally had to get a briefcase and switch it with this one, and he still almost caught me!"

Ignoring the older brothers rudeness, Mark addressed Phillip. "Have a seat Phil. Would you care for a drink?"

Always willing to share a refreshment with company, or without for that matter, Phillip replied, "Certainly; don't have any Jack Daniels do you?"

Mark smiled, he knew the mans weakness, in fact counted on it in his dealings with the younger member of the Withers clan. "I knew you were coming, so I picked up a bottle on the way home tonight Phil."

As he crossed from his position by the now secured door to the liquor cabinet against a wall in the dining area of the open concept living area of the house, Mark instructed, "James, just put the laptop on the desk over there in the corner, I'm going to have to relax a bit before I attempt to access the records on the hard drive."

Turning back into the living room and bringing Phillip his drink, he continued, "It's going to take a while in any event, I might even have to plug into my desk top and run a hacker program into the RAM on your fathers computer before I can find the passwords and gain entry to his records."

James already completely frustrated by the numerous unexpected obstacles which had arisen during the last few days of their attempt at gaining control of their fathers finances, and unaware that Mark had interests of his own which to him were far more urgent than recovering the inheritance of two spoiled rich brats. His face reddened by anger, the veins on the sides of his neck bulging like charged fire hoses, James turned on Mark in a barely repressed fury.

"Why the hell can't you just turn the damn thing on and find out what we need to know? We don't need to 'access his files' we just want to know where the damn money is!"

With the superior manner of one who detests dealing with morons, but often finds himself in positions requiring just that, Mark retorted, "Look here James; this is not a standard model lap top computer were trying to get into! This unit probably cost your father twenty-five, or thirty-thousand dollars, I could break into the banks computers easier than I'll be able to get into this one." Going back to the liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink, a fine brandy which he preferred over the straight bourbon whiskey Phillip was drinking, Mark continued in a calmer tone, "Bill Withers is not a stupid man, I'm sure that any information stored in his personal computer which he doesn't want known will not be unprotected. I'll have to be exceedingly careful that I don't trigger safeties which might even erase all the information. It's possible he would rather have the knowledge destroyed than see it exposed to someone not entitled to it."

Once again James exploded, rising halfway off the couch, "What do you mean not entitled to it? I'm his heir!"

"Not the only one, mind you," Phillip interjected calmly. Then said, "Mark old boy, I wouldn't mind another drink; if you could spare it."

Mark laughed, pointing to the bottle on the bar top in front of the liquor cabinet, and replied, "Sure Phil. Help yourself." Then addressing James said, "Neither one of you is his heir. Not yet. He isn't dead." During the pause in conversation which followed his last comment, Mark carried his drink over to the window seat which was a part of the bow window, pulled out the built in tray there and sat his glass down on it, and then settled himself in the seat, facing so he could keep an eye on both brothers at once.

"Speaking of your father, where do you have the old gentleman stashed at the moment?" he ask.

"He's at the hospital over at Bozeman Hot Springs," Phillip answered from the bar, as he poured himself a double shot from the now half empty bottle of Jack Daniels then continued, casting an accusing look at his brother as he did. "The Doc thinks he had a mild stroke; said he couldn't tell if it was from the blow on the head or just from the stress of all that's been going on around here. Either way there's nothing he can do. He said we'll just have to wait and see if he gets better; or not."

Mark, becoming more relaxed now that he had a semblance of control in addition to being on his own territory, sounded piqued as he said, "Hospital! Ha! That place isn't a hospital it's the nut house where all of your rich friends keep their parents when they've siphoned all the money out of them and have no further need of their signature to spend it." By this time James had endured as much socializing with Mark Tovesen as he could stomach, were it not for the mans connections at the bank and his ability with computers they would never have involved him in this affair in the first place. Deciding it was time to go he stood and walked to the door through which they had entered the house.

"Come on Phillip; you can bring your bottle with you. I'm sure Mark won't mind. You've practically emptied it already," he said as he turned the knob and pulled open the door, once more inviting the cold night air into the house.

Mark stood at the window as the Porshe backed down the drive, turned back the way it had come, and disappeared into the night. Then he drew the drapes closed and went to his desk to begin the long process of extracting the information he wanted from the computer, which he knew would be just as stubborn as the old man who had programmed it.

EIGHT --Approaching Sunrise

By the time Fred had driven south far enough to come to Salem it was past midnight. He woke the old man and suggested they find a hotel and pull over for some rest, as he could not drive any more with out sleep. The old man agreed and they pulled into Salem and found a room for the night.

The next morning the old man had Fred drive west on 56 and cut south at Livonia to U.S. 150, then back east to Hardinsburg. As they drove along and he began to recognize familiar landmarks the old man commented to Fred, "This is the part of the state where I grew up, many years ago."

The old man noticed that some the places he remembered from his childhood were missing as they drove into the downtown area of his home town. On the outskirts of town they passed a Mall Mart where the he remembered the Parkins farm having stood amidst corn fields, and cow pastures. As they drew nearer still he noted that a Taco Hut had replaced the Homestead restaurant where daily you would find all the old men gathered for coffee. Those who were not congregated at Al's Tap which, he noted, was one edifice still standing and apparently thriving. As they came to the Grade School the old man asked Fred to pull over. When the car came to rest at the side of the street next to a park which adjoined the school playground, the old man opened the door stood up and walked out into the newly mown grass and under the maple trees which grew back from the edge of the road and provided shade for the benches, slides, merry-go-rounds, monkey bars and swings used by the children during their lunch breaks when school was in session, and all during the day light hours of summer, when it was not. He sat down on one of the benches and looked around, remembering many days of childhood pleasures, unfettered by the cares and considerations, which in latter life seemed to be so predominant that no time or energy was left to enjoy the simple acts of living.

Motioning for Fred to come sit next to him the old man began talking as if to him self seeming, after the initial act of inviting him to listen, that he had completely forgotten the others presence.

"I attended school right there in that building when I was a small child. It wasn't like the schools are today, back then it wasn't just a grade school. All of the classes were in the one building, there were only four rooms other than the vestibule just inside the main entrance. That was where we set up our 4-H exhibits, and had class assemblies and daily exercises during the winter, in warmer weather we went outside."

The old man turned and looked over his shoulder, across the field which ran down hill on a slight slope from the back of the school and ended at a fence which bordered on the back yards of a subdivision which stood where he remembered farm fields from his youth.

He looked in that direction for a while lost in memories and then continued his remembrances, "Those houses weren't there when I was a kid. All you could see as far as you looked was farms fields, and trees. There was a small grove of willow trees right down there in the corner, by the pond, we used to sneak down there during lunch break and make out with the girls, those that would; of course." He smiled with remembered pleasures. "We were pretty fresh grade schoolers for our times I suppose, although we didn't think so. I guess if I had stayed here I would have married one of those girls and my life would have been a different place than it turned out to be. We all had to ride the bus back then, those of us who lived to far outside of town to walk that is. I used to get in trouble for coming in late because I would stay on the bus after the driver dropped off the grade schoolers, and ride on the route to pick up the older kids." He laughed at the memory of the drivers frustration with the unruly youngster he had been at that time, then continued talking as if he had not stopped, "I fooled him every time, that poor guy never realized I was still on the bus until it was too late to turn back.

"My father owned a saw mill just south of town, and my uncles had mule teams they used to haul timber down out of the woods to the mill for cutting. Between the mill and hiring out the mules they all made it through the depression without starving or loosing everything they had. When the depression ended and World War II started business began to boom, of course a lot of the fellows who worked the mills went into the service, Dad was too old. The government turned him down anyway when he tried to enlist (said they needed him to run the mill for the war effort). I don't think he ever got over that." The old man stopped talking and looked around furtively as if he were someone talking to them self who had suddenly realized others were present and may have overheard.

He stood stiffly turned to Fred, who had sat silently through the old mans monologue, and said, "Well young man, sorry for running on like that. I suppose we had better be moving on if we're going to make any decent mileage before sundown."

Fred, dusting himself off as they walked back to the car replied, "OK Pops, but we'd better get some gas and a bite to eat before we hit the road. Maybe we can make it to Louisville before sundown and find a decent hotel to stay in tonight. What do you say?"

"Sounds good to me," the old man answered, thinking that perhaps a comfortable bed to sleep on would keep him from the dreams he had been having the last few days. It wasn't that they were frightening. No. What bothered him the most was not being able to recognize the faces in the dreams, if he could only tell who it was questioning him possibly he could decipher the meaning of his visions.

NINE -- Leaving Sunset

Monica fidgeted impatiently in her seat as the Jumbo Jet circled Gallaten Field for the second time. She always hated flying into the Rockies. If it wasn't snowing, it was raining and windy. If it wasn't raining or snowing it was just windy. The plane would duck and dive like a boxer up against an opponent large enough to deliver one good blow and call it a day, leaving no room for round two. Then at the last minute skip down onto the runway, as if by sheer will power it had managed to stay on it's feet long enough to make it to the bell.

She knew that if she flew out here enough times the plane she was on would make the ten o'clock news.

The edition she would not be there to watch.

She glanced over at little William in the seat next to hers, checking once again to make sure he had his seat belt properly fastened and that his seat was all the way in the upright position. She reached across and pulled the plastic shutter down over the window next to his seat. He always insisted on having the window seat, which Monica never objected to as she hated looking out the window when the plane was in the air even more than the act of flying itself.

Despite the buffeting the high altitude winds blowing off the lee of the mountains were subjecting the craft to, the boy was soundly sleeping. He reminded her so much of her father, not in looks--he looked like her husband Peter--but by his demeanor and actions, that she sometimes forgot the boy was only fourteen years old. Her son was always calm and unconcerned by the antics of others as they darted about like lemmings rushing headlong from one daily disaster to another. He methodically traveled through his young life, much like his grandfather, as if he had a plan and a goal which guided each task unerringly from outset to completion.

Monica never knew from one moment to the next what she should do with herself and every situation seemed a major crises. She wished her husband were here. She knew his job in the Army was more demanding of his time than most peoples careers, she had known this when she agreed to marry him, that knowledge did not make it any easier being a soldiers wife. He had explained that the operation his unit was engaged in at the moment was important, and he would not be at home with her in any event. It would do her good to be with her father, and if he got worse Peter would be able to get there in less than five hours.

She wished her mother were still alive.

She wished she knew what the hell was going on.

She wished this damn plane would land!

* * *

Monica didn't care that she had been born and raised in Montana, she hated the cold, she hated the mountains, and most of all she hated that the people who were supposed to be her family could only come together as one in times of crises, usually those involving money.

Phillip was waiting for them at the terminal after she had suffered through the landing of the plane and the interminable wait to taxi in and connect to the boarding ramp, then make the long walk into the building. He was soused, as usual, but had maintained enough wits about himself to pick up her luggage, to which she was grateful. He sat the suitcases down, as soon as he spotted her tall willowy form, and long dark hair approaching through the array of people in the concourse, stretched out his arms to her equally dark haired son, lifted him up and spun him around like a helicopter when the boy ran to him, laughing with joy at the sight of his uncle.

"Why is it that children always like drunks?" She wondered aloud, as she stood and observed the pair answering her question for her, acting as if they were both children instead on one child and one adult.

"Phillip Gerhard Withers, put that child down and stop making a spectacle of your self! You are a forty year old man. You are supposed to set an example for the boy, not teach him to act the fool in public!" she halfheartedly chided her brother. She was never able to truly be angry with Phillip, he was the only sibling, aside from herself and her oldest brother, not totally consumed by greed and the quest to liberate their father from his money. His major fault was his gullibility especially when it came to their older brother James. Phillip would go along with, and do just about anything James wanted him to do.

Monica waited until her son and his favorite uncle had completed their traditional celebration of greeting, then picked up the smaller of the two suitcases she had packed and brought along for the visit with her father, waiting for Phillip to bring the other bag, although she could have managed quite well unassisted, thanks to the unknown inventor who had thought to put wheels on luggage, thus doing as much as--if not more--any liberation movement to grant women the ability to travel freely about the country.

As they moved off across the concourse toward the exits leading to the parking lot she ask her brother, "So what happened Phillip, how did Father end up in the hospital?" Then without waiting for a reply she continued, "He was doing so well. I just talked to him on the phone the day before he was to retire. We were all so looking forward to having him spend some time with us while deciding where he was going to live when he got tired of traveling. You know how much he always wanted to travel and just never seemed to find the time after mother died."

Phillip, who had been positively cheerful at their arrival up to this point, became decidedly agitated now and stumbled on some unseen object in his path, as if the physical act could disguise the delayed reply he eventually gave to her question.

"Sis, you better talk to James about that, I'm not sure I should say anything just now. Pop had a stroke, he's not even conscious most of the time and when he is he just mumbles nonsense about some guy named Fred, and Indiana and getting to the ocean." Not realizing that he had already said enough to arouse his sisters suspicions, he concluded, "I wish the whole thing had never happened. I thought things were just fine the way they were."

TEN -- Near Dark

Mark stopped his pacing back and forth between the bow window at the front of the living room and the bar by the entrance to the dining area long enough to once more stand in contemplation as he gazed toward the desk along the far wall of the living room. He wasn't actually seeing the furniture or computer equipment occupying that part of the room, he was roaming through program data in his mind trying to find the key which would open the memories of Bill Withers computer and spill out the information he was seeking.

If all he were after was keeping that information from falling into other hands than his own, destroying the laptop would suffice, he was certain the old man had not had the time to copy the files or get a copy to anyone else. No, that wasn't the problem. What was wrong troubled Mark even worse than did the thought of discovery, the wily old bastard had changed the codes and locked him out of his own files at the bank.

Mark had enough money squirreled away in coded bank accounts overseas to skip the country and live well enough the rest of his life if matters deteriorated so far as to require such an exigency. Still if he could find where the old man had stashed his money and if those two idiot sons of his could actually manage to wrest control of it from their father, it would not hurt Mark financially when he collected the share they had promised him for his help.

The thought of giving up the Rocky Mountain slopes and spending the rest of his life in the Swiss Alps, with foreign beauties on his arm instead of the college students he occupied his time with now, did not seem such a bad exchange. But all of that did no good if he could not get at the banks files to erase the information there and so prevent the authorities from tracing the money and tracking him down. Mark was positive the old man had the codes filed somewhere in the memory of his laptop, Withers never went anywhere with out the computer and always had any information he required at his fingertips; with a touch of the keypads.

No.

The answer was here; it was just a matter of sorting through the maze of seemingly countless files stored on the hard drive until he found it. He had believed it would be more difficult to access the old mans computer than had proven the case, apparently he had been convinced he would not loose possession of the valise. Or perhaps simply was not all that adept at writing security programs and had relied on the manufactures built in systems which, to someone with Marks abilities, were like open doors.

Having spent enough time on his feet, relaxing his mental muscles and exercising his physical ones, Mark walked into the kitchen to make some coffee. He felt he'd had enough alcohol for the evening and the coffee would keep him awake. It was going to be a long night.

ELEVEN -- Leaving Sunset

Monica had remained silent all the way to the car after hearing Phillips last comment. Already concerned and needing no new reasons to be suspicious of her brother James, she spent the time pondering the hidden meaning behind Phillips slip, for he clearly had not intended to say what had been said in the airport, she was now ready to attempt prying information from him without seeming to be doing so, if possible.

"So. Phillip, what has James been up to lately?" she ask in as casual a tone of voice as possible in these circumstances. With most people you could count on drunkenness to loosen their tongues and slow their mental processes; not so with Phillip, she had never known any amount of alcohol to affect his behavior or attitudes to any observable extent. She knew she would have to be careful and not alert him to the purposes of her questioning or he would close up tighter than a car lot at five o'clock, as soon as you needed a spare part for the car they had been more than willing to stay open all night to sell you.

Casting one quick suspicious glance in her direction, then quickly putting his eyes back on the road he replied, "Just his regular routine: pretending he cares about being a member of the board of directors, or what goes on at the Bank, fighting with his wife about spending too much money, and telling his stepsons they're going to grow up to be even more useless than they already are--of course he should be an expert on that subject--if they don't take an interest in something more than rock and roll music and girls."

He slid the car smoothly up the exit ramp and merged with traffic on Interstate 90, headed west toward Boseman, then laughed and continued, "And, of course, constantly trying to figure ways of getting Dads money."

Phillip was aware that he had to think carefully, formulating in his mind exactly what to say, before voicing his thoughts aloud with his sister. Someone had told him, or he had read somewhere, that the easiest way to lie and have people believe you was to tell part of the truth and let them add the rest from their own imaginations. So far he had found the method worked quite well, although with Monica you never knew, she was more astute than most and could analyze what you said to the point that you were not sure what you meant after you had said it.

"You'll find out anyhow so I'll tell you, they were having a tremendous argument about the money the day Dad had his stroke--James was really pissed--seems Dad sold all his stock, closed out his accounts at the bank in Boseman and moved all his money somewhere out of town to keep James from getting his hands on it."

"He's entitled to do that if he wants to. He earned that money, which is more than I can say for the two of you," Monica stated as she pressed the switch to open the window a crack and lit a cigarette.

Smoking was her one major vice and she chided herself for it constantly, although she continued to do it. She leaned over the seat back to check on her sleeping son behind her. He had been like this since he was a baby, her husband Peter being in the Army they had spent quite a few hours on planes, moving from one place to another. Traveling had never bothered little William, the boy was not like other children in that respect, if there were no interesting scenery to watch go by he would immediately fall into a sound and peaceful sleep then awaken without complaint, instantly alert, upon arrival at their destination. She just wanted to make sure the smoke from her cigarette was not blowing back on the boy, or that it was not too cold for him in the back seat with the window down. She leaned back in her seat and let herself enjoy the cigarette; there was no point in fighting it right now, she wasn't going to give them up during this crisis.

"Phillip. Why would Dad think it necessary to hide his money, no one can take it from him as long as he is of sound mind; especially in this town, he's a premier citizen here?"

"Well, I'm going to tell you. I don't know if Dad knows it or not, but James is in big trouble financially. He lives way beyond his means to start with and of late has been flying down to Vegas quite a lot, he's in pretty heavy to the Casinos." Phillip paused as if deciding whether he should say more, then sagged into himself like someone who's had the wind knocked out of them, before continuing.

"Look Sis, I drink entirely too much. Hell. I'm pretty much of a drunk most of the time, and I know the old man doesn't approve of it. He had to watch his own father drink himself to death. But that's not how it is with me, I'm not a miserable drunk; most of the time I'm as happy as I can be. I've got a good life. You know yourself Dad set us all up pretty well on our twenty-first birthdays, he gave us a good nest-egg to get started on." He laughed and pointed to the car around them and went on, "Hell look at this car, I didn't even have to buy it, whenever I need a nice car for the day I just take one off the lot. It's a great business, my employees do all the work of selling, they get a good commission and I make a decent profit. The kids from the college practically beg to come in and pay too much for the cars we sell them. They don't care, their parents are footing most of the bills, all they want is a sharp looking ride so they can impress their friends."

Monica rolled the window down enough to toss her cigarette but out then said, "Phillip, you are not a drunk, I don't think I've ever seen you drunk in my life! Now I know you do drink more than is probably good for you and I wish you wouldn't, but you aren't a drunk."

Phillip smoothed his hair back on his head with his free hand and then patted her on the arm as if to reassure her; expressing his gratitude for the undeserved devotion. "Thanks for the support Sis, but I'm not talking about me. I'm trying to tell you about Dad, and James." He stared ahead at traffic for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

"Dad doesn't hate me or anything like that; he's just a little disappointed in me. He knows I appreciate all the help he's given me over the years--I wouldn't have my business if it weren't for him--and he also knows I don't covet his money. He's tried to get me to expand the business into other cities; said he would loan me the money. I told him I was perfectly happy and had more than enough work to do just running one car lot." Shaking his head, he continued talking, "See, he just doesn't understand that. Dad can't see how someone can reach a goal in life financially and be content there. I think that comes from growing up when he did, in the depression and the war and all. He firmly believes that you've got to have enough money put away to survive when things fall apart; and to him enough is never enough.

"No James is the one he's angry with."

TWELVE -- Approaching Sunrise

The old man could tell he was on a bed of some kind, and that he was in a room somewhere, probably a hospital room from the disinfectant smells in the air. He could see light on his eyelids, and hear voices. He could tell they were male voices, and that there were three of them, but could not distinguish the meaning of what the voices were saying. The old man thought if he could open his eyes that might help, but when he tried they seemed to be stuck together as might happen when one was sick and had been sleeping a long enough time. He gave up on that and just tried to listen more closely to what was being said by the unseen people around him.

One of the voices was yelling at the others, obviously trying to keep the volume down, but not succeeding against the anger and frustration apparent in his tone, "Look, I'm telling you it's not in there! For the last time I've opened every file, and been completely through each one. He had to have hid it somewhere else. Then in a quieter mode the same voice ask, "Are you sure you went through all of his clothes?"

One of the other voices, this one even more familiar than the first (Why couldn't he recognize them?) answered sarcastically, "What? Do you think I'm a damn fool? Of course I went through his clothes; and his car; and his house. You were supposed to check his office!"

"I did! I did, it's not there, nothing's there he cleaned the whole place out before he left."

Then the third voice interrupted the others saying, "Quiet, someone's coming. Just put the damn briefcase back and let's get out of here!"

The first voice cut him off, declaring, "Screw that! I'm not leaving until I get some answers." Whoever the unseen antagonist was, he began shaking the old man demanding, "Wake up you old fool and tell me where the money is! Wake up I said! It's no good to you now, give it up...."

* * *

"....to get up. Wake up Pops. Wake up, that's not good for you now. No nightmares allowed here. You'll have the manager down on us making all that noise."

The old man opened his eyes and sat up in bed, flailing his arms at his attacker saying, "All right. All right! I'm up." He looked around him, and realized he was still in the hotel room at the Ramada in Louisville Kentucky with Fred, his new found companion.

Shaking off the last dregs of sleep, he ask, "What's going on Fred? Why are you shaking me like that?"

"You were having a bad one this time Bill. I didn't think I was going to be able to wake you up," the other man answered as he moved back across the room to pick up the bed clothes he had strewn about the floor in his haste to get to the old mans bed side.

He peered over his shoulder as he folded the blanket and placed it on the foot of his bed, "What were you doing in there Pops? Those are some pretty severe dreams you're having. The only time I have nightmares like that is when I've got something on my conscience."

"I don't really know. I keep dreaming I'm in a hospital somewhere and being questioned by these people I should be able to recognize, but I can't tell who they are," the old man stated honestly as he sat up and put his feet on the floor. Fully awake now, and aware of his surroundings. "Do you think we can get them to serve us some breakfast here Fred?" he ask.

Fred glanced at his watch and answered, "Sure, they have a buffet on until eleven--it's only nine now--so there should be plenty left for us."

* * *

As they drove south out of Louisville on I-65 the old man turned to Fred and directed, "We'll head south to Lexington and then cut over on I-64. Then take that east all the way to Virginia. We've got to get up to Woodbridge; just south of Washington D.C., where my daughters husband is stationed."

Fred nodded understanding and ask, "Tell me Pop, what are you going to do once we get there?"

The old man gazed out the side window of the car for a while at the rolling hills which he knew would grow into mountains if they continued south into Tennessee. After a time of admiring this country side he hadn't seen since he was a much younger man, and then only while working sunup to sundown logging in the forests of northern Kentucky, he replied, "Fred, when I decided to retire I was concerned only with the money I've accumulated over my lifetime. I wanted to insure it was used as I've instructed my attorney to have done. Then all of this happened and I ended up traveling with you. The longer I stay on the road and watch this beautiful country of ours pass by outside the window, the more I realize I've lived a life about nothing."

Fred took his eyes from traffic long enough to look over at the old man next to him; he could see the weariness on the others face, as well as hear it in his voice. "I wouldn't say that Pops, you've got a daughter, two sons, and a grandson--"

"A daughter, a grandson and three sons. In addition to the two I mentioned to you; I have another son who is in the Air Force," the old man interjected. Then said, "He hasn't called me in more than four years. Doesn't want anything to do with me."

Fred turned on the wipers and hit the washer button in a futile attempt to clean the bugs off the windshield. When he saw it was doing no good he said, "Oh well, I'll clean the window when we stop for gas, you think someone could find a way to keep those things from smashing themselves on your window."

The old man laughed and advised, "Work on the idea Fred. If you come up with a solution you just might make your fortune. That's what they're made of you know. The little ideas that simplify peoples lives. Find something that works and you're guaranteed to have a big market for it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Fred responded. "But, I'm not going to let you get me off of the subject. It seems to me as if you've had a rather successful life, not many people can say as much."

Annoyed, perhaps with himself more than anything the old man protested, "That's not exactly what I meant Fred. Everything I've set out to do has been accomplished."

He continued rather bitterly, "It's just that I'm beginning to believe I've chosen to do the wrong things. I thought life was about security and prosperity, so I set a goal to make enough money to be secure, no matter what happened to the world around me." He chuckled and admitted, "My son Phillip tells me all the time I put too much faith in money, that I should have as much faith in my own ability to survive."

"Sounds like common sense to me."

"He said I lived to work," The old man considered for a moment then continued, "Although that's not exactly the truth. I think I quit living to work. I thought I could relax and enjoy my life when I had enough money to ensure that my wife and my children would never have to struggle or want as I did in my youth. "Then, when my wife died my oldest son blamed me for that, and hasn't been close to me since. I don't think James really cares either way all he wants is my money, and Phillip is perfectly content being a drunk and running his car lot."

Fred spotted the exit to a truck stop and signaled to change lanes so they could pull in for a rest and to gas up the car, "What about your daughter and her son? Don't you think you can count them as a success in your life?"

"No. I don't think I can," the old man answered. "Any success Monica has is likely her own doing. After her mother died I hired a housekeeper to see to the children, and growing up with no mother and three brothers she had to pretty much raise herself. I was never there; I spent all my time and energy in my work." He sighed and went on, "That was partly to allay the grief of my wife's death, but a greater part of it was just habit of a lifetime. I didn't know how to not work, or rather I didn't know how to live without working."

"Well then, if you can't take the credit for how your children have turned out as adults; then you don't deserve the blame," Fred informed the old man.

"I guess that's true Fred. Maybe Phillip has the right idea (if it weren't for the drinking he'd be fine), work hard enough to get what you need and then spend the rest of your energy on finding some goodness and enjoyment in life."

As Fred pulled the car into the parking space at the truck stop and shut off the engine the old man put his arm up on the seat, gave the lad an earnest look and ask, "How would you like a job as my chaperon, you've been traveling around the country, you could show me the sights I've missed all these years? When we get to my daughters house we'll give the disk to her to send to my lawyer, if they're not there we'll throw the damn thing in the ocean and let the bank worry about it's own money. What do you say?"

THIRTEEN -- Leaving Sunset

As the car continued along the expressway toward her hometown, Monica waited a few minutes before commenting on Phillips last statement then ask, "Why is he angry with James?"

Phillip continued to look straight ahead as he answered, as if letting her see into his eyes would allow his sister to discern an involvement on his part he sought to deny, even to himself, "There's something up at the bank, I don't know--money missing or lost on bad investments something like that--James has hired an attorney and is trying to get the Board of Directors to declare Dad incompetent to run the bank." He paused and gave her one of his "I don't have to explain it to you, you know how James is" looks, then continued, "He thinks if he can get them to blame Dad for the losses we'll be able to have him found unfit and take control of his money."

"So why are you involved in it with him, Phillip?" Monica ask accusingly.

On the defensive now he responded quickly, "At first I thought James was right, and that the old man was loosing control, and I certainly didn't want James in control of Dads money without anyone keeping an eye on him, shit he would've headed straight to Vegas with it. Then when he outfoxed James, put his money in another bank and retired before any one could accuse him, I told myself, 'Hey the old man's still got it going on,' so I was trying to get James to drop the whole thing. That's when I found out he couldn't just walk away, he's way in over his head with this Mark guy he's involved with...."

He cocked his head to the side and looked at her through the side of his eyes, took his hand from the wheel, spread his fingers palm down and rocked his hand in a teetering motion as he said, "Now that guy is a genuine asshole, I think he's the one who took the money and Dad got on to him about it, that's why he tried to blow him up in front of the bank."

Monica burst out, "What do you mean, tried to blow him up!"

"Yea!" Phillip proclaimed. "That's how Dad ended up at James's place over at Ennis Lake. "Dad thinks we did it, that's why he and James were arguing, when James threw the ashtray and dad had his stroke."

Now completely confused--even more so than before the conversation began--and absolutely enraged with both of her brothers Monica burst out, "Phillip Gerhard Withers! You will immediately take me to our Father and explain to me exactly what is going on here before we get there, do you understand me?"

Realizing he should have kept his mouth shut from the beginning and let his brother James talk to Monica, Phillip, hoping she might calm down if he gave her a little time to let him explain more clearly what had happened said, "We've already passed the exit for the Hospital. Why don't I get you all settled in at my place first--you'll still want to clean up before we see Dad--then I'll take you there. OK? Please?"

FOURTEEN -- Approaching Sunrise

After driving more hours than he cared to count, altogether more time than one person should spend behind the wheel of a car without sleep, Fred was near exhaustion. According to the map they had picked up at the last truck-stop they were approaching the junction where Interstate 64 and 81 split; with 64 going on east and 81 taking them to the North towards Washington D.C. He looked to his right at the once again sleeping figure of the old man who had so unexpectedly become his traveling companion. The old fellow was holding up better than Fred had expected him to when they began their trek, for even though he had the will to continue onward his physical strength was not that of a younger man. He was indeed old, and weary of life filled with much success but little satisfaction.

He gently touched the other on the shoulder and said, "Wake up Pops, I need some instructions."

Bill started and opened his eyes realized where he was then smiled and ask, "What's that you say son?"

"I said I need some directions. Do you want to go North or stay on 64 and head East toward the coast?"

Stretching and looking about to pinpoint their location in his mind he finally replied, "Looks like we're coming up on sunrise. Let's go with Interstate 81 and head north until after dawn, that will keep the light out of our eyes until time to turn east on 66 and head for Washington."

FIFTEEN -- Leaving Sunset

Mrs. Thompson was concerned about her husband Tommy. He had been acting strange for more than a week now. At first she had attributed his behavior to the fact that he was not working, he had hardly missed a day in all of his years at the bank and said he had no intention of retiring as long as his health would let him keep working. He enjoyed the position and preferred shift work to steady days, which he could have been on long ago had he chosen. He said rotating shifts gave him the best of both worlds, he got to meet and socialize with a lot of people during the day shifts and appreciated the peace and solitude at night, which gave him time to reflect on things and be grateful for the life God had given him.

Setting the toast on the table with the bacon and eggs she called for him to come and eat as she opened the refrigerator door to get out the milk. With all of their children grown and gone Tommy had insisted on more than one occasion that it wasn't necessary for her to get up every morning and cook breakfast. She had answered back that as long as their were people living in her house as a family, whether it be two or twenty-two they would get their buts out of bed and eat a healthy breakfast the way a family was supposed to do, and that was the end of that! Until the next time.

Tommy walked into the kitchen, kissed her on the cheek and said, "Good morning Ms. Lindy." He said the exact same thing to her every morning, she would have been terribly shocked had he not. Her name was Linda but he had called her Ms. Lindy since they had first dated, and even though she had not cared for the nickname at first she had tolerated it and over the years come to accept it to the point comfortable familiarity.

She sat down in the chair opposite his and waited while he said Grace, then before he could start eating she ask, "What's bothering you Hon, I know something is on your mind?"

Tommy looked up at his wife and gave her a loving smile as he replied, "Well Ms. Lindy, I didn't know rightly how to bring it up... you know...."

He sputtered a moment, awkwardly, confused as some men are, about how to discuss with their family matters which are not normally a topic of conversation in the household. Then as if deciding he had to confide in someone and not wishing to add to his wife's concern by holding back he said, "A strange thing happened the other week when Mr. Withers was at the bank late on Sunday. Just before the explosion that I was injured in."

Relieved that at last she was going to learn the cause of her husbands worrying, and just a little excited by the possibility of hearing some juicy tidbit about the goings-on at the bank Linda leaned forward in her chair and urged, "What is it Tommy? What happened?"

He laughed and said, "Well settle down and I'll tell you. I can't tell you if you're gonna keep stopping me and asking questions."

Once again he composed himself and began, "I've known Mr. Withers almost since I first hired in at the bank... oh... let's see twenty-some years ago now. Let me tell you, I couldn't ask for a better Boss to work for. All the guards get a good bonus every November--just in time for Christmas--right when a person would need the money, and we always get cards here at the house on holidays. You already know that, and when he sees us he always speaks to everyone who works there real respectful-like, as if we were all equals and he weren't the President of the Bank and us just hired hands. Yea, a man couldn"t...."

"Tommy Thompson!" Linda interrupted, frustration with his roundabout way of explaining his thoughts apparent in her voice. "If you don't get to the point, and stop sitting there as if you were giving a eulogy at your Bosses funeral or something I'm... Well... I don't know. I'm going to just scream for Petes sake."

"All right Ms. Lindy, now, just hold your water. I'm gonna tell you, it's just that Mr. Withers told me not to tell anyone other than that Lawyer fellow, and then only if something happened to him." Tommy gave his wife a pleading look as if that could make her understand his unspoken dilemma well enough to keep silent until he had explained it to her.

She stared right back at him, her face totally devoid of expression, and waited until he went on. "That night (Sunday) on his way out of the bank Mr. Withers stopped by the desk and we talked for a while, just about retiring and where he was gonna go and such (OK. OK!) and then before he did leave he gave me an envelope and ask me to hold on to it for him in case something happened to him. I thought it was kind of silly and all, I mean what was going to happen to Mr. Withers? Of course I didn't tell him that, I told him I would do it. Then he walks out the door and this car drives up and someone inside throws a bomb out the window and tries to kill him; not five minutes after he gives me this envelope."

Linda extended her arm across the table and patted him on the hand, attempting to offer some comfort, "Now Tommy you didn't know. How could you?"

He smiled his gratitude at her for the gesture and continued recounting the events of that day, "After the bombing, when I got home from the hospital I hung my coat up and forgot about the envelope. Then with all the things that needed doing to get my sick pay and make sure the other guys had the guard schedule covered down at the bank while they made repairs and got it reopened, I still didn't remember it until just a couple of days ago when I got my uniforms out to take to the cleaners. I guess the shock and all made me forget about it."

"Yes," she said, looking down at his plate. "That's probably it. You need to eat your breakfast before it gets cold."

Tommy shook his head in disagreement and replied, "I can't eat right now. I'm sorry Dear. Do you have some coffee? I would just like some coffee. That's all."

Linda stood up from the table and said, "No. But it won't take a minute and I'll have some made. You just sit right there and wait, while I fix it."

"OK," he said. "Anyway, what I was saying; I looked up the number and called over to his sons house (James) and ask how the old man was doing and they wouldn't tell me any thing. So I called the bank and ask and they said no one knows where Mr. Withers is at, or if he's all right or not." He interrupted his tale to say, "Thank you Ms. Lindy," as his wife took a cup from the cabinet and poured his coffee, sitting it in front of him. "Then the receptionist I was talking to told me they were trying to locate him themselves. It seems there's some money missing or something and they want to talk to him down at the bank."

Sitting back down and pushing her plate to the side his wife rested her arms on the table and ask, "So. What are you going to do Tommy? It seems to me you should call this Lawyer up and talk to him, even if you don't give him whatever Mr. Withers gave you to hold, at least talk to his Lawyer and ask his advice."

It was his turn to pat her on the hand, and in the process he ended up taking it and holding hands with her across the table as he said, "Yes. That's what I think I'm going to do."

SIXTEEN -- Leaving Sunset

Charles loved to fly as much as he loved to do anything, especially this little jet he had put together himself from a kit. He had to admit it wasn't quite the same as flying one of the big Air Force Fighters he flew for a living, but it was just as much fun (maybe more) and there wasn't the stress involved with handling those powerful monsters. He could just relax and sail along in this perky little bird, no instruments to monitor other than compass, altimeter, speedometer and a radio. He was a bit stressed, but that came as a result of the call he had received from his sisters husband, Peter.

Not having kept in too close contact with his family, other than Christmas, and Thanksgiving and such he was uninformed about much of their activities. Normally that was the way he preferred things, they all had their own lives and he had his. Other than the fact of being family they had little in common.

Charles knew his father believed his oldest son hated him, but that was not true, after his mother passed away Charles had simply thrown himself into his life with the Air Force. He knew it wasn't wise but that was how he dealt with his grief, and being basically unable to comfort himself in any fashion other than flight (literally and figuratively) how could he be expected to offer comfort to others, especially his father who had been distant to him all his life. He knew that was likely no more his fathers fault than his own, neither of them knew how to reach out to the other. But when Peter had called and said his father was in the hospital and might not recover he had taken emergency leave and left for Montana immediately.

He would not want the old man to leave this world thinking his oldest son did not love him, and understand that his father loved him in return.

Charles turned the small jet to an easterly heading, to circle out from the airport and then make his landing approach from the east, into the west winds which were blowing off the mountains today. He enjoyed landing in the mountains, having to finesse the plane down toward the earth, competing with winds which one moment would try to hurl you skyward then wait until you had brought the nose of the plane down and were holding her in level flight suddenly reverse their flow and attempt to slam you into the ground like a swatter after a fly.

Oh yes. This was much more enjoyable than landing at the Air-Base in Roswell.

Once he had successfully landed the little plane, taxied to his assigned parking space and secured his craft to the hold down rings mounted in the tarmac he entered the terminal building through the service door in the maintenance section and went to the rental desk to claim the keys for the rental car he had reserved by phone the day before.

While on the drive toward Boseman he used his cellular phone to call his brother Phillips house but received no answer. Thinking Phillip might be at his car lot Charles decided to drive there first. He did not know where his sister might be staying while in town and had no desire to speak with James so did not call his home, or his office at the bank. As he pulled into his brothers new and used car lot Charles recognized one of the sales men, a fellow he had attended High School with as a youngster, waved him over to the car, and stepped out to greet him.

"How are you Bob? It's been a long time," he said.

"Well enough Colonel Withers. Your little brother treats us better here than most would," the other man said as he shook Charles hand; much as he would have if they had just closed a deal on one of the cars lined up next to them.

"That's enough of that 'Colonel stuff' Bob," Charles chided his old friend. "You never had any trouble calling me Charlie when we were in school. Even though you knew how much I used to hate that."

Bob laughed defensively and retorted, "Yea, but I was on the Football Team back then and you were just a skinny little runt. Who would of known you going to grow up and fly bombs over my house while I was sleeping."

Then they both laughed and Charles said, "I didn't know you worked here Bob, but I'm glad I ran into you anyway. I wish we had time to visit, but I'm kind of rushed."

Bob cut him off felt in his coat pocket then pulled out a slip of paper, which he handed to Charles as he said, "You don't need to say any more Colonel. Phillip said you would likely be coming into town. He said if you stopped by here looking for him you had probably already been by his house without finding him so to give you the address of the hospital your dad's in. Sorry to hear about the Old Man, by the way."

"Thanks Bob," Charles replied as he took the proffered address and turned to get back in his rental car. "I can't make any promises but I'll try to get together with you before I leave town. We can have a beer and talk over times."

"Sounds good to me Colonel," Bob called out over the sound of the engine as Charles started the car. "I'll invite some of the boys you haven't seen in a while, maybe we can make a night of it!"

SEVENTEEN -- Approaching Sunrise

The old man had not been to his daughters house in some time, and even though Woodbridge was a small town they became lost trying to find the address.

People who live in the city don't often stop to consider the benefits of having street signs at every corner and an address on the front of every house, until having stopped some one to ask for directions only to be told, "Well Sir, you go straight on up this road just a piece--keep a close eye now or you'll miss it--and you'll see the stump where the town cut down this big old Elm tree last fall. Now right past that you make a left... No not a right, you make a left... Yes Sir, the stump is on the right. The turn off is on the left. Now after you've gone up than road for a ways--ain't much of a road you know, supposed to pave it but they ain't got around to it yet, it's mostly gravel and not much of that--like I was sayin'. You go on up there for a bit and you'll see this red barn, well it ain't red no more... well of course it used to be red but it's kind of rotted away now, but right after you see the barn...."

Yes they were lost.

EIGHTEEN -- Near Dark

As James was shaking his father in a futile attempt to arouse the old man he tossed the laptop at his brother and said, "Here you put it back. The other one is in that locker at the foot of the bed." Phillip, caught completely off guard by the flying briefcase, rather than catching it batted the assaulting object away. The valise bounced off the edge of the bed rail, flew open and impacted the corner of the locker, as it did the liner in the lid tore open and an envelope flew from the case and landed on the floor next to the now damaged computer. Mark who had been about to give up on the entire situation and leave was the only one who noticed the envelope sail free of the valise. He pounced on it as if he were a starving wolf about to catch the last living rabbit in the woods.

"Wait a minute. Wait just a minute!" He stood up and bounced toward the other two men, waving the envelope in their faces, "Do you two know what this is? Do you know what I have right here in my hand?"

James, just now realizing the damage he had inflicted on his fathers computer and turning to launch a tirade against Phillip and cast the blame on him for not catching the case stopped in mid stride when the implications of Marks words struck home, "Is that the codes Mark? Is that what you were looking for all this time?"

Mark stopped his cavorting about the room and answered gleefully, "Yes sir! There's a floppy disk in this envelope." He shook it in their faces once more and gloated, "Now why do you think there would be a floppy disk hidden in the liner of that briefcase unless it is the very one we're looking for?" He went on as if they had answered his rhetorical question, "Because the old man didn't have time to get it to the banks accountants and was trying to hide it from us. That's why!"

He turned and shouted back over his shoulder as he ran from the room, "I've got to get home and check this out, then get over to the bank and take care of some business!"

James called after the receding figure of his accomplice, "Just find out where our money is and how we can get to it!"

That was the least concern on Marks mind at that moment. His main intent was erasing all knowledge of the whereabouts of certain moneys; not locating more, but he answered James to placate him, "OK, I'll call you later. Don't worry."

NINETEEN -- Leaving Sunset

Will knew his grandfather was pretty sick. His mother had come to the school and taken him out just after lunch, told him they were flying to Montana to be with her father for a while and that maybe Dad would fly out and be with them in a couple of days. He hoped so; his dad had been away on Maneuvers for two months now and he missed him. The only person who might be closer to his heart than his dad would be his grandfather. He did not consciously think this; he just kind of felt it without having to question himself on the subject.

He thought a lot of his uncle Phillip. His uncle was a funny man and fun to be around, but you could always tell that everything was just right now with him. You knew that as soon as he were somewhere else you did not exist in his world anymore, that he was being funny and fun without you. He would stop whatever he was doing when you were around and take time with you because what he was doing was not really all that important to him.

It was different with his grandfather. When he put aside his other interests to spend time with you, you knew it was because he thought you were more important to him than those things. The action was the same but the motive was much different.

He wished his father was more like his grandfather.

Everything was about the Army with his dad, from his cloths, to his friends, to where they lived. He had heard his parents talking about that subject just the other day, Dad had been saying how sick he was of this Army life and how beautiful southern Ohio was and how he would love to live there, and his mother had replied that she didn't care where they lived as long as it was not Montana, that she hated everything about Montana. Will did not understand that, he loved going to spend summers with his grandfather in Montana and thought that was where he would live if he had his choice. He did not know why if his dad wanted to live in Ohio so bad he did not just quit the Army and go to live there.

His mother came into the room and ask, "Are you ready to go now Will? Your uncle's going to drive us over to the hospital so we can check on Dad and make sure everything is all right with him."

"OK Mom," he answered, as he jumped up and went over to turn off the television, which he had turned on as soon as they entered his uncles house, partly from habit but mostly because he had learned that was what his mother expected him to do and when he deviated from her ideal image of a fourteen year old boy she immediately thought he must be sick or something. He disliked upsetting her, especially when his Dad was away with the Army. He was all the family she had with her during those times and his mother depended on his presence so he tried to behave as much like he thought she expected a kid to behave as he could. He knew the trials and tribulations of being a teenager, having to know what it was people expected of you, when you had to behave in the prescribed manner society demanded and when you could just be yourself and enjoy life and often wondered how much harder it must be for an adult.

Will did not realize that most of his friends thought just the opposite, that it must be a breeze being grown-up and able to do whatever you wanted to all the time. Had he thought of this he might have discerned why most of them were in trouble of one sort or another much of the time.

The one thing his mother had never suspected him of (to his knowledge) was playing possum. It was true that Will could sleep under virtually any conditions, at any time. There were many occasions however when he would be wide awake and alert to every conversation going on around him while his parents absolutely believed him to be soundly sleeping. He had learned various interesting and sometimes useful bits of information by employing this technique. Just as she believed, he had slept most of the flight out from Virginia, but had been wide awake the entire time since the plane landed and overheard her conversation with his uncle Phillip, so was aware that things were amiss and was just as eager to get to his grandfathers side as his mother was.

Will knew that his grandfather worked a lot, he had overheard his mother tell him on more than one occasion, "Dad, you're going to kill yourself at that bank. Why don't you retire and come live with us?"

His grandfather would give the same reply every time, "I don't have anything else Monica. I don't know how to do anything else. Working at the bank is probably what keeps me alive." It was these conversations which had decided Will to begin spending summers with his grandfather several years ago. Being younger then and not as wise in the ways of the world and the intricacies of adult behavior, he had thought that he would be able to get his grandfather involved in other things besides the bank and had cajoled the old man into going to movies, car races and carnivals and such in an attempt to get him interested in what a twelve year old boy thought of as living. He had even got his grandfather to read some books with him in front of the fireplace and remembered how much fun they had reading The Wizard of Oz last summer.

Of course he was older now; so he knew that his grandfather had only done these things to please his grandson, but was hopeful that he had been able to exert some influence and thought he might have played a small part in the old mans deciding to retire.

Will ran eagerly to his uncle Phillips car and hopped in as soon as his uncle unlocked his door. He buckled up his seat-belt and waited until his uncle had closed his mothers door for her then ask, "Mom. Do you think we have time to stop and let me get Grandfather a get well card on the way to the hospital?"

His mother turned to look at him and said, "Well I don't see why not William. I'm sure your uncle won't mind driving by a store on the way."

TWENTY -- Approaching Sunrise

The old man did not know what he was going to do now. He had only imagined he was lost when he and Fred had driven in circles up and down the lanes of Woodbridge, Virginia looking for his daughters house. Now that they had located the residence and found no one at home (from the looks of the place they had been gone for some time) he was really at a loss.

As the old man sat staring toward the vacant house from the passenger seat of the car Fred; a note of concern in his voice, ask him, "Where do you think they might be Pops?"

The old man shook his head in confusion and replied, "I don't know...." Then as a thought occurred to him he burst out, "Of course! Why didn't I think of it before?"

"What? What is it?" Fred ask excitedly.

"The State Park. They go camping all the time over at Westmoreland State Park." The old man motioned hurriedly for Fred to start the car and drive, "Let's go, I'll tell you how to get there on the way, it should only take a couple of hours." Fred started the car and drove away from the house.

"Which way Pops?" he ask.

"We want to get back on 95 and go south for now. We'll turn off at exit 133 and head east."

"So Bill. What do we do if they're not at the park?"

"Well now. I don't have an answer to that question," the old man replied, "I guess we'll wait, and cross that bridge if we come to it. They keep a trailer there most of the year, I've camped with them before. If they're not there the Park Manager will let us in and we can stay the night there and figure out our next move in the morning." He gave Fred a questioning look and queried, "Is that all right with you?"

Fred replied with an uninhibited laugh, "Sure Pops. This is your adventure. I'm just caught up in the tornado."

TWENTY ONE -- Leaving Sunset

Linda Thompson was getting nervous. Actually she had been jittery for some time. Tommy had gone into the Law Office building over one and a half hours ago. She looked up at the banner on the face of the building, above the entrance proclaiming this to be ROBERTS, ROBERTS and TODD--ATTYS. AT LAW, and wondered for the ump-teenth time why it could possibly be taking this long for her husband to give Mr. Withers Lawyer an envelope containing a computer disk. The concerned woman had not wanted to go in with her husband. She felt this was his business and it would not look proper for her to be there with him; it concerning his job, and Mr. Withers and all. Now she was beginning to wish she had gone in anyway; at least if she had she would know what was going on.

There had been quite a few people in and out of the building while she had waited here in her car. It did not seem as if anyone cared very much who came in. She didn't like messing with lawyers and government people if she could avoid it but had decided she would wait fifteen more minutes and then she was marching right in there to find out what they had done with her Tommy, when she saw him come out of the door. Although it was only a little less than two hours since he had entered the building he walked toward her as if he were worn out from working all day at the bank. He always told her days tired him out more than any shift, mostly because there were so many people to deal with all day long.

Linda started to get from the car and help him but Tommy motioned her to stay where she was. He slid in on the passenger side of the front seat and let out a sigh of relief. "I thought I was never going to get out of there Ms. Lindy. If they hadn't let me go when they did I was about to come out here and tell you to go on home and I would catch a cab, but they finally got it all straightened out."

She got the car started and pulled out onto Main Street, looking for a place to turn around, "As soon as I get headed the right way I'll get you home Tommy so you can rest up. You look about ready to fall over."

"No," he interrupted, "Keep on the way you're going. I want to drive down to the Hot Springs and see how Mr. Withers is doing, and if he's awake I'll let him know I gave that envelope to his Lawyer."

"Tommy Thompson, are you sure you're up to driving that far? Can't it wait until tomorrow?" she admonished.

"Well I suppose it could, but I can't. I don't think I would sleep tonight if I let it go."

As they came to the outskirts of town Tommy spotted the new Mall Mart that had gone up last year on the site of the old outdoor theater. "Pull in here, would you Ms. Lindy?" he ask.

"I think I'll buy Mr. Withers a get well card and some flowers since we're going out to the hospital."

TWENTY TWO -- Leaving Sunset

Phillip had written the address of the hospital where their father was on the paper he had left with his salesman. Charles left the car lot intending to drive straight there but decided to stop and get the old man a card. He pulled into a shopping center which he spotted on the road out of town, realizing as he pulled into the parking lot that these stores had not been there the last time he was in Boseman. He shook his head in dismay when he realized where he was at.

Right here on this spot was where the drive in theater had stood when he was a teenager. He guessed that video games and the VCR had killed out door theaters, and wondered where youngsters went to make out now that the drive-in was gone, then realized the answer was obvious: there were a lot of televisions in basements, and a lot of empty houses with both parents out working.

Being reminded of his childhood by the changes taking place in his hometown during his absence reaffirmed his commitment to never marry or bring children into this world. His decision to make an avocation of the military had not come until he was convinced of his desire to never have children. The wisdom of this choice was readily apparent to him each time he visited his sister and saw the toll taken on her and his nephew by the long absences of her husband Peter. Although Will was a good boy for his age and did not cause his parents any undue difficulties; Charles detected the resentments in the son caused by the fathers career in the Army.

You have to make choices in life, Charles knew, but you did not have to make them blindly without any awareness of the consequences to yourself or others close to you. He had learned this lesson from his own childhood, with a mother who was only there for the family between bouts of depression and a father who was not there at all; except when he decided his children needed to be reminded of the hard times their father had known as a child of the depression and instruct them on the ills of not planning for a secure financial future.

As for his siblings. He preferred distance in their relationships. James was nothing more than a self-centered leach who would have to be himself until the day he died.

That was punishment enough.

Phillip on the other hand was a good-natured fellow toward others but he punished himself for imagined guilt's by living in the bottle.

Charles loved his little sister dearly and although he had not tried to discourage her marriage to Peter (having met him beforehand and judged to be a good enough prospect for his sister) he had admonished her to be certain of her love for the man and her own ability to bear up under the stress and loneliness of being a military bride. He laughed to himself as he walked across the parking lot toward the store, remembering the song by Billy Tomorrow he had heard around the time she was engaged to Peter. Charles had sent a copy of it to his sister, hoping she would understand his intent and not be angry with him.

She had indeed sent him a Thank You note, with an attached PS, which told him to mind his own business. He continued towards the entrance of the store, singing the song to himself as he went:

This song is not for heroes,
it's not for sons at all.
This song is for the daughters
who no one ever calls.

The ones they've left behind them,
the ones they've never found.
The ones who cry for freedom
when no one knows they're bound.

This song is for the mothers
of daughters yet to be.
This song is for the daughters
that nature won't set free.

The ones who would be heroes;
who cook and make the beds.
The ones who would be heroes;
who cry at night instead...."

TWENTY THREE -- Near Dark

After leaving the hospital James headed for his house on Ennis Lake, intending to get some much needed rest and plan his next moves in what now seemed to be the final stages of the war he was waging to gain control of the old mans money. Before he was halfway there it occurred to him that he had let Mark depart his sight with the only available copy of the codes by which his fathers accounts could be accessed. When the full impact of what this implied hit home, James came near to flipping his car as he made an illegal U-turn in the middle of State Road 84, and flew at break-neck speed back toward Boseman. He failed to the black car, which had followed him from the hospital, turn and continue pursuit.

Once Mark was able to locate the old mans funds, given enough time undisturbed he could easily transfer all or at least a part of that money into accounts under his own name. James knew the other man was ruthless enough to do just that, being aware of his activities at the bank, in fact having been an accomplice on several occasions when Mark extracted funds from accounts at the bank. If he succeeded in getting at the old mans money James would be in no kind of position to accuse him of stealing it without also incriminating him self in the process. No. He would have to intercept Mark unassisted.

James arrived at the bank with just a few minutes left in the business day and the lobby was still open. This simplified his entry as he noticed there was a new guard whom he did not recognize. The man would have surely questioned him had he come in after closing and insisted on seeing his identification. He would have had to sign in at the desk. As it was he might now be able to conduct his dealings without anyone being able to connect his presence with that of Marks. Being one of the Vice-president of a bank did lend him some advantages over the rest of the population of this town however; extracting assets from other peoples accounts and depositing them in one of your own was not among the allowed perks of that office.

Mark was alone at his desk when James entered the room, apparently the rest of the office staff had departed hoping to get an early start on their weekend. James sauntered over pulled a chair up next to his coconspirator and sat down with a grunt of triumph. He lit a cigarette and blew smoke out into the filtered air of the room, more because he knew how much it annoyed Mark than because he wanted to smoke.

"Mark," he said. "I left the hospital floating on a cloud after we found the disk in the briefcase, and I was fairly exhausted, so I started home to get some sleep. Then I remembered just who it was I was dealing with and thought to myself I should probably drive over to the bank and see if you needed any help remembering who you were dealing with." He went on to emphasize his point, "I would hate it if you were to forget who all that money belonged to. You might accidentally think it was yours and deposit it in the wrong place."

Mark laughed and replied with insincere applause, "James all this time I've defended you when everyone here said you only had your job because of your father." Then he continued, more truthfully, "I really only did so because I needed old man Withers, actually I agreed with their appraisal of your abilities. I'm completely surprised you had enough sense to show up here."

As he saw the anger begin to show in James expression Mark hurriedly pulled the disk from his pocket, reached over to insert it into his computer terminal and said, "That's all right though. I don't need your money, just the share you promised me if we could pull this off." Then his face lost all expression, as he saw the banks attorney, two state policemen and a lawyer from the firm employed by Mr. Withers walk from behind the partition where they had been listening to the entire conversation.

TWENTY FOUR -- Approaching Sunrise

The old man was up with the sun. He had found the makings for coffee and brewed a pot for Fred and himself, then taken it outside where they sat at a picnic table and watched the park wake up around them.

When they arrived the night before they had learned that his daughters family was not at their vacation home and according to the park manager had not used the facilities at all this year. He had pointed out that it was early in the season and few of the usual park residents arrived this soon after the opening of the park every spring.

The old man--changing the truth only slightly--explained to the Ranger that he and his companion were meeting his daughter and her husband at the campsite and apparently had arrived early and ask if he could let them into his daughters trailer. They had no difficulties securing permission and a key to the trailer from the Ranger as his daughter had left her fathers name on the tenant sheet allowing him rights to use of her park site. With a little help from one of the parks attendants they got the power on and fired up the propane heater to take the chill out of the place and then bedded down for the night, both men were asleep almost as soon as they lay down.

Fred exhausted by the long hours of continuous driving over the last few days had needed all the sleep he could get. He was rested now, awake and alert, thanks to the cool morning air and the strong coffee the old man had poured for him. With his lack of sleep attended to, he began to notice his hunger. Neither of the men had eaten much since leaving Kentucky.

He stood up and stretched, gave the old man an appraising look and ask, "Do you think you'll be OK here for a couple of hours Pops? If so, I'm going to drive back down the road to that store we passed on the way in and pick up some groceries."

The old man lost in reveries of a past life he wished he could do over the right way didn't answer at first, then said, "What was that? Oh. Sure, I'll be fine. Bring enough for at least two or three days. I don't know how long we'll have to stay here before they show up, or we can get in contact with them."

TWENTY FIVE -- Leaving Sunset

Will stood in the aisle looking at the final two get-well cards he had chosen to pick from for his grandfather. They were both nice cards and he was taking his time deciding which was the most appropriate for the old man, when he felt a touch upon his shoulder. Thinking his mother had returned from the garden section of the store, where she had gone to find a potted plant to put in his grandfathers room at the hospital, Will hastily made his final decision, returned one of the cards to its place on the rack and selected an envelope for the one he had chosen. He looked up and started to say he was ready until he realized it was a stranger who had come upon him.

Cautiously he backed away a step and ask, "Can I help you sir?" Then added defensively, "My mother is in the next aisle."

The man, a rather plump and cheerful looking sort replied, "No. No, son. I didn't mean to scare you. I just wanted to ask you a question. Aren't you Bill Withers grandson?"

Before Will could answer a woman who seemed to know the strange man walked up the aisle and scolded him, "Tommy Thompson! What are you doing to that child? He looks half-scared to death. You come away from there. You can't just go around talking to someone else's children these days. Why, people might think anything!"

The man named Tommy took the woman by the forearm and said, "Now, Ms. Lindy this isn't just any child. This here is Mr. Withers grandson! I recognize him from the photograph Mr. Withers showed me at the bank one day when he stopped by the desk to chat with me." He pointed at Will with his free hand and declared, "Look. He must be going to the hospital to visit his grandfather. He's buying a card to take with him."

Will now completely taken aback by this strange couple ask shyly, "Do you really know my grandfather?"

Tommy replied, "Yes son, I do." He smiled down on the lad reassuringly, "I work for Mr. Withers. I'm a guard down at the bank," he turned and patted Linda on the arm, "and this here is my wife Ms. Lindy."

"Now you just call me Mrs. Thompson young man, and don't you pay no attention to this old fool." Just then Will's mother and his uncle Phillip walked around the corner from the adjacent aisle. His mother stopped, looking over this tableau like a protective lioness returning to her cubs only to find them in a face off with a pack of hyenas.

She was about to speak when Phillip gave her a comforting look and interjected, "I think I know these folks Sis. It's all right." Then he turned back to question Tommy, "Mr. Thompson? You are Mr. Thompson; from the bank?"

"Yes," Tommy replied. "You're Mr. Withers son Phillip," he said. Then as if not sure added, "Aren't you?"

Phillip said, "Yes. That's right. Can we help you Mr. Thompson?"

"Oh you can call me Tommy. Everyone else does."

Tommy glanced at his wife, embarrassed now, wishing he had taken her advise and left before the boys relatives had arrived on the scene, "We didn't mean no harm Phillip... Sir. We were on the way out to the hospital to visit Mr. Withers and just stopped in here to buy him a card and maybe some flowers. I didn't know for sure if he liked flowers and when I seen his grandson here at the card rack, I thought to ask him if he knew, but you all came up on us before I could get around to it." Then realizing he was beginning to babble, as his wife bumped him in the ribs with her elbow, Tommy quickly shut up and just stood shuffling his feet.

Monica, recovered from her momentary protectiveness, natural to a mother confronted by strangers seemingly accosting her child, and grateful to find that instead they were actually friends of her sick father said, "Now I just think that is the finest thing. You actually going all that way out to see Dad and bring flowers."

"Oh. By the way, I'm his daughter Monica Morrow and this is my son William."

Tommy smiled in relief and said, "Yes Mam. I know. Your father showed me both your pictures down at the bank. He used to stop by the desk and visit with me all the time when he was at work late. I think he kind of took a liking to me for some reason." He stopped, nodded to his wife and smiled as if to say, "See! Everything is all right." Then said aloud to Monica, "This is my wife Ms. Lindy."

Linda started to correct her husband then thought to herself it was not worth it and said, "It's nice to meet you Monica. That's a fine boy you have there; and very polite too."

Now completely hooked by this charming old pair, Monica said, "Why don't we all just go down to the hospital together. Mr. Thompson, you can tell us what all the fuss is at the bank and we can figure out how all this mess got started in the first place."

Tommy looking a little abashed replied, "Sure Mrs. Morrow. Me and Ms. Lindy would be pleased to join you."

TWENTY SIX -- Approaching Sunrise

The old man decided to go for a walk along the river while he waited for Fred to return.

The nightmares had stopped tormenting him. They were not actually nightmares anymore. He still had dreamed of being in some kind of ward somewhere, surrounded by a lot of people; but he had not been afraid. In fact he had felt a great peace settle over him as he lay there with his eyes closed and listened to the voices of those about him. They were gentle voices now and the lights, though still bright as ever did not glare at him in his dream. They had softened into a brilliant cheerful glow which seemed to fill the entire room with a radiant warmth that settled throughout his weary body and lifted the cares of the years away as if they had never been.

In the dream he had begun to open his eyes and look upon these benevolent people who now stood over his bed. As he did so the light diffracted into a rainbow pattern of colored light and shadow, and he woke on his bed in the trailer looking into the sun shining through the branches of a tree which stood next to the campsite.

The old man had learned a great deal about himself since meeting Fred. He now knew that he could not go back to his life in Montana. All that he could do with his life had been accomplished; for good, or ill. He could not undo it. All that he could do for his children and his grandson had been done, and there was nothing they could do for him.

What time there was left to him he would use to shape his soul into something with which he himself could live and die in peace.

TWENTY SEVEN -- Leaving Sunset

Having selected a card he believed his father might appreciate, and picked out a box of chocolate covered cherries. Although his father did not practice any other vices; he was addicted to chocolate. Charles left the store, crossed the parking lot to his car and started the long drive to the hospital.

As he was pulling out of his parking space another car came darting down the lane and he had to brake abruptly to avoid being hit by the intruder. Not wanting to spoil his own good mood or encourage the driver of the other vehicle to do so he merely smiled and waved the passing car on by. Instead of going on the driver stopped his car and opened the door to get out.

Here we go. Charles thought to himself, then broke into happy laughter as he recognized his brother Phillip.

He rolled down his window and as his brother leaned in to poke him on the chin said, "Phillip. You juvenile idiot! Are you ever going to grow up?"

"I don't think so big brother. I've been trying for a long time now, but all you mature adults keep getting in my way!"

Phillip yanked open the drivers door of the car and exhorted his brother, "Come on. Get your but out of there and give me a hug! I know they don't go in for that kind of thing in the Air Force, but I think you can get away with it here. I've got connections in this town, you know." He was stepping out of the car when Charles noticed his sister and her son Will waving from the windows of Phillips car.

As he returned their greeting he ask, "When did Sis get into town Phillip?"

"Early this morning. I picked them up at the airport and took them to my place to freshen up before we went out to the hospital. We stopped here so Will could get a card for Dad," Phillip replied as he walked his brother around the car to say hello to the others of his family. If I had known you were in town I could have picked you up too."

Charles interjected, informing his brother, "Thanks anyway Phill. I had a rental waiting at the airport. I don't like commercial flights to begin with and this was a good reason to check out my plane on a long haul." Then he had to brace himself as Will ran into him in his enthusiasm to greet his uncle.

"Hi Uncle Charles," the boy said cheerfully. Stepping back a pace to stiffen his shoulders, the lad threw up as military a salute as he knew how to, and snapped out, "Excuse me; I mean, Colonel Withers Sir!" Then he grinned at his uncle and said, "Mom told me you got a promotion Uncle Charles. Congratulations."

Charles replied, "Thank you son. It's nice to know you care enough about your old uncle to take an interest in my career." Then he turned to Monica, who had waited patiently for her son to complete his hello, and declared, "Sis you look lovelier than ever, and younger too I think, unless this mountain sunlight is fooling my old eyes!"

Just then another car, which had been following Phillip out of the parking lot at a more sedate pace pulled to a stop and the driver honked at the assembled group. Phillip, ever the flamboyant one no mater the circumstances waved toward the new arrivals as if greeting old friends and led his older brother over to introduce him to his new acquaintances.

"Charles. I would like you to meet Mr. and Mrs. Thompson.... Tommy; Linda, this is my older brother Charles. I don't know if you've ever met him. He's here on leave from the Air Force."

"Hello Charles," the other man said as he put his hand out through the open window of his car to exchange greetings. "This here is my wife Ms. Lindy, and my name is Tommy. I work for your father Mr. Withers, down at the bank. We are both real sorry to see him ill this way."

"Nice to meet the both of you," Charles replied as he shook the older mans extended hand.

"OK, OK," Phillip interrupted, "Charles. We were all on our way to see Dad at the hospital. Why don't you follow us over there and we can all see him together."

Charles concurred, "As a matter of fact I was headed that way myself," then he laughed and added, "I guess it's no coincidence we all met up here in the parking lot. Dad will sure be surprised to see us all together. Let's go then."

* * *

The hospital at Boseman Hot Springs, though furnished with all the modern medical equipment necessary to function as a true hospital (from surgery to treatment of disease) was actually a combination rest home and psychiatric facility for the elderly. The majority of the patients were there against their own will; forced into incarceration by their own descendants for one reason or another, usually just to get them out of their hair. Most of the remainder had not resisted admission to the facility simply because they were senile or comatose.

The grounds and buildings themselves were beautiful things to behold and served well the function of attracting rich and well-to-do customers. As the procession of cars followed Phillips lead up the long winding drive to the entrance of the administration building Charles began to realize there was more going on here than just a sick old man. He determined to question his brother as soon as an opportunity presented itself, but never found license or a need to follow through with his intentions; there were others intent on the same course of action who had prerogative above his and were already in motion. They were met at the door by the County Sheriff who was accompanied by an attorney from the firm of ROBERTS, ROBERTS and TODD.

As the hospital doors closed themselves behind the newly entered group the Sheriff, a tall, weathered skinned, broad shouldered man who appeared to be in his middle forties approached them. He stopped just out of arms reach of the assembled visitors and introduced himself:

"Hello folks. I'm Chester Howard, with the County Sheriffs office," he paused to clear his throat then continued, "Sorry to bother you here at the hospital, but this is a serious business I'm about today and there just isn't any way around it."

The sheriff tucked his hat under his arm and continued, "I know Tommy here and I must assume the rest of you folks are relatives of Mr. Withers. Is that correct?"

Charles speaking for the group answered the official, "I'm his oldest son Charles." He pointed about and went on, "This is my younger brother Phillip, my sister Monica, her son William, and this lady here is Mr. Thompsons wife Linda." Then he smiled reassuringly at his sister, who was obviously becoming more agitated with each delay she encountered in route to see her father.

Turning again to the police officer he inquired, "May I ask, what is going on important enough to necessitate your being present here at the hospital waiting for us sir?"

"Truthfully I wasn't waiting here for all of you, in fact I had no idea you were going to be here at all. I'm here to meet your brother Phillip, and I can see by the way he's fidgeting he probably has a pretty good idea why."

Charles glanced quickly at his brother, who did appear to be a bit nervous, and then back to the officer, who continued speaking, "I think I'll let Mr. Todd here explain the particulars to you. However, I will say we have arrested your brother James and his associate Mark Toveson, and are here to bring Phillip in for questioning."

TWENTY EIGHT -- Approaching Sunrise

The song of the ocean was one of contentment. The old man heeded, as if by sharing in the song he too could grasp the serene rhythms of that sleeping beast. That he could place a marker on his life and state: "He ate whatever banquet life placed before him." For the sea never complained she rolled her waves up on whatever shores lay before her; be they genteel sands, towering granite cliffs or the boiling lava flowing to her from the heart of an erupting volcano. She swallowed them into her bosom, and in the end devoured all, and was complete.

It's sad, the old man thought, that people can't live the life they have instead of always yearning for the joys they perceive in others. What I wouldn't give if I could only begin my journey over and simply live instead of hustling away the time I had for a future that was never to be.

As he walked over the final rise and started down toward the beach below the old man looked and for the first time in his life saw the ocean. He moved on down the slope of the dune, reaching, not with his hands but with his soul for the alluring summons of the waves. In his haste to reach the waters the old man caught his foot on a piece of drift wood embedded in the sand. His legs buckled beneath him and instead of falling forward onto his hands, he collapsed into the sand in a sitting position. Rather than go through the effort of standing up again he choose to sit a while and embrace the solitude of the scene.

He was pulled from this spell by the sound of someone calling from the top of the hill. Then making a conscious effort to decipher the words, he heard again, "Grandpa. Wait up. I'm here. Don't you want to see me?"

Recognizing the sound of his grandsons voice, the old man started to turn from the daylight growing over the ocean but instead simply sat with his eyes closed and waited for the boy to come down to him.

After a while he heard foot steps and felt the presence of bodies moving between him self and the light. Thinking it was the boys parents he opened his eyes....

TWENTY NINE -- Leaving Sunset

Phillip did not try to resist the Officers as he was cuffed and escorted from the lobby of the hospital.

Charles moved closer to his sister during the proceedings and placing an arm around her shoulders, gave her a reassuring hug, and whispered, "Bear up Sis. Don't forget your son needs you." Then he smiled toward Mr. and Mrs. Thompson when he noticed the equally disturbed expressions on their faces.

He turned back to the officer and ask, "Will you please explain exactly what is going on here Sir...?"

* * *

After the Attorney, Mr. Todd had filled the group of concerned relatives in as to the exact circumstances leading up to the events they had witnessed and otherwise learned of the group was allowed to continue their quest to find the old man. They endured the standard frustrating front desk ritual with the hospital personnel in attendance and were at last afforded the number of Mr. Withers room and given a pass to allow clearance through the corridors of the building.

As the now weary assemblage trekked their way through the immaculate and richly decorated hallways Mrs. Thompson, with a hopeful smile on her face, exclaimed, "Well folks. Surely from the looks of this place Mr. Withers must be very well taken care of. I certainly have never been in a hospital as luxurious as this one!"

Charles only smiled at the woman's naivety but her husband replied, "Now Ms. Lindy don't let all this richness fool you none. I know about these places, they're more a prison for old people whose children don't want them anymore."

She shot back resentfully, "Why Tommy. You should be ashamed of yourself! These nice young people wouldn't do anything like that to their own father!"

"No," he said, "I don't believe Mr. Charles or Ms. Morrow here would." He looked down at Monicas son before continuing in a quieter tone, "But I wouldn't put too much at all past that no good brother of theirs, James."

Charles, who had been leading the others and watching for room numbers interjected, "I think we're all going to find out what the true story is in just a moment. This is Dads room right ahead, and if he's awake I'm sure he'll let us know and we'll get this whole mess straightened out." They continued on the short distance to the indicated door and turned into the room. Before the door could close itself behind them they realized there was no one occupying the single bed against the wall.

Charles; who had endured as much misdirection as he was willing to accept turned, intending to march back to the lobby to vent his wrath, and nearly collided with the nurse who unexpectedly flung open the door and rushed in to the room.

"There you are!" she exclaimed, out of breath. "I've been chasing you since you left the front desk."

She smiled toward the offended gathering and went on, "I'm so sorry you folks had to walk all this way, but the receptionist didn't know. Mr. Withers was going on in his ramblings about the ocean and we thought it might help if he could see the water. So we took him out by the lake," she concluded.

Monica was about to speak up but Charles enforced his long accustomed military discipline upon himself and in a calmer mood spoke first, "Well that's fine Miss...?"

"Sylvia. Sylvia Landrey," the nurse filled in. Then continued, "I'm Mr. Withers Personal Attendant. He's such a good patient, I don't mind taking care of him at all. Except for his discussions with people who aren't here...."

Once again Charles interrupted, "That's fine Ms. Landrey. We're very reassured to know this, but do you think it would be possible for us to see my father today?"

She clapped her hands against her cheeks and replied, "Oh my yes! I'm so sorry I've been keeping you. Just follow me and we'll get right down to the lake." With that the nurse turned and exited the door through which she had just entered in such a flurry, then made off down the hallway in an equally rapid fashion. Charles shrugged his shoulders and indicated for the others to follow. They all scurried off to catch up with the febrile woman ahead of them.

THIRTY -- Daylight

....and saw Charles standing before him instead of the people he had expected.

The old man looked about frantically before spotting his daughter Monica, his grandson, the guard Tommy from the bank and a lady he had never met standing between him and the water.

Abruptly a woman dressed in a nurses uniform knelt before him and chastised, "Now look what you've done Mr. Withers. You've excited yourself and fallen from your wheel chair!" Then the old man realized he was sitting on a grassy field next to the water. He wasn't in the sand at all!

THIRTY ONE -- Daylight

As the group exited the hospital and moved across the lawn toward the lake William spotted his grandfather and rushed ahead calling as he went, "Grandpa. Wake up. I'm here. Don't you want to see me?"

The old man apparently heard the boy. He tried to stand but tangled his feet in the blanket draped across his legs and sat down precipitously in the grass, the wheel chair rolling away behind him.

The boy slid to a stop in front of his grandfather, afraid his haste had caused the old man to injure himself, and before any one else could intervene Nurse Landrey knelt before her patient and attempted to get him back into his chair.

At first the old man seemed not to notice her as he sat running his hands over the grass of the lawn, as if he had never seen the like before. Then he looked up, recognition dawning in his expression, and held up his hands in acceptance.

THIRTY TWO -- Daylight

Something is terribly amiss here, the old man thought. Just a second ago I was sitting on a sandy beach, and now here I am on a lawn.

As he felt the grass under his fingers, and looked up at the nurse squatting before him, reality returned in a rush. He felt his journey, his unearned freedom and his new found companion slipping away. The years of wasted dreams descended upon him once again. Like a weighted chain confining him forever to the life he had made.

"Fred," he softly cried to him self; as one pining the loss of a brother.

Charles, who had moved to assist the nurse in getting the old man back in his chair, heard and questioned, "What's that you say, Dad?" Then: "There's no one here named Fred."

The old man looked into his long absent sons eyes and replied, "I know son. I know."

Taking his fathers hand Charles said, "Dad... I... well I came to tell you I love you, and I'm terribly sorry for all the years we haven't spoken. It wasn't what you thought...."

The old man stopped him and replied, "I didn't think anything at all son. I just didn't know how to accept your mother being gone and be a good enough parent for the both of us." He paused a moment then said, "It all right. I love you too. I've always loved all my children. Right now I'm just a tired old man. I want to rest."

Turning to include the others present in his gaze he continued, "But first there's a couple of things I need to do. Tommy, come here a moment will you?"

Tommy walked over and clasping his hands in front of him as if he were a student called up before the principal ask, "Yes Mr. Withers, what can I do for you?'

"Tommy, did you give the envelope I ask you to hold on to my lawyer?" the old man questioned.

"Yes sir, I did."

"Good. Then that's all taken care of, and my children are grown now. They can take care of themselves." The old man thought for a second then said, "Tommy, I noticed my grandson seems a little worried about me. Tell him I would like to speak with him alone for a bit. Would you?'

"Sure thing Mr. Withers!" the other answered and hurried to get the boy and send him to his grandfather.

When William came to his side the old man questioned, "Son can you push this wheel chair by yourself?"

"You betcha, Grandpa! I'm a lot stronger than I look."

"Well that's just fine. Push me a little closer to the water, and let's talk for a minute."

THIRTY THREE -- Twilight

Often freedom lives only in our dreams. The wind blows and (sometimes) the tornado does come. You find that you are somewhere over the rainbow. Skies are blue....

And you just aren't in any place like Kansas anymore.

THIRTY FOUR -- Sunset

The old man turned to his grandson and ask, "Do you remember when we read all those great books together last year; all the fairy tales and adventures we had together?"

Not understanding where the question was leading, William answered his grandfather, "Yes sir, and I really liked them too!"

"Good for you," the old man applauded, "and that's exactly what I want to talk to you about. You may not understand exactly what I'm trying to say right now but later on you will. I want you to remember, so you can make a good life for yourself." He gave the boy an earnest look and ask, "Can you do that for me?"

"I think so... sure I can do that Grandpa!" William hesitated and then declared affirmatively.

The old man waited a moment then said, "There are many opportunities in this world, and life is long and varied and full of great joys. You can live in wonderland. You don't have to loose yourself in dreams to make it real for you. If you do, and if you wait too long, if you grow old in your soul without letting your dreams come true you'll become bitter and living in your dreams will become easier than letting your dreams live in you. Can you remember that son?"

"OK Grandpa," the boy said and then ask, "You're not gonna die, are you Grandpa?"

The old man laughed and said, "No William. I'm just very tired and I'm going to rest a while. Now tell those folks to go away and come see me another time. I need to sleep. Fred's waiting for me. I don't want him to worry."

William didn't know who Fred was; but he went and did as his grandfather ask him too.

As they walked back toward the hospital, Monica ask her son what his grandfather had said to him.

The boy looked up at his mother and answered earnestly, as if it should have been obvious to her, "He said he didn't want to live in Kansas anymore.'

Monica and Charles, puzzled by the boys reply, looked back at the old man sitting in the wheel chair.

Smiling at some secret joy they did not share.

Slipping into sleep. To dream himself away.

It was an easier thing to do.

* * *

End

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Becoming The Rose
Child And Freedom
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Thursday, March 31, 2011

MAN AND CHAIN

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