A Life of Death (Chapters 1-3)

A Life of Death, Chapter 1 - Family, February 12th, 2010

Chapter 1 – Family

February 12th, 2010

            Alex smiled as the wind buffeted his dark hair through the open window. While exhilarating, something tickled the far reaches of his subconscious, struggling to make itself known. The car sped down the wet pavement without regard to physics or the elements, curving through mountain passes. Rocky cliffs flashed by like lone soldiers as he took the blind turns. The grudging squeal of diminishing tires was his sole company, screaming as he straddled the yellow lines through each twist and turn.

            Where am I? wondered Alex for the umpteenth time, but his past memories were consumed by the dream’s vividness.

Trees and deer flickered in his peripheral vision. A glance in the rearview mirror displayed olive skin, a stern jaw and partial day’s growth of whiskers. The stony brown eyes held his attention a moment longer; they weren’t his own.

Who am I? Memories of a man four years gone flared in his mind, and recognition set in. Oh no. Not again...Dad!

            In a split-second, everything fell into place like pieces in a puzzle. Alex glanced back at the road, but his fateful knowledge did nothing to stifle his shock. Around the bend, brake lights flared under the chrome bumper of a silver semi. Alex stomped on the brake. Tires squealed, and he jerked the wheel right. The car veered toward the striated rocks of the mountainside and he spun the wheel left…too late. Time slowed as sunlight glinted off the sky-blue hood. It met the truck bumper with a crunch. Metal on metal pierced the air and the car slid beneath the cargo truck’s rear. The hood crumpled like an accordion, rushing at Alex’s face, and the bumper slammed into the windshield, splintering it like a collection of glistening spider webs. The last thing Alex saw, what he always saw, was a shredded bumper sticker that read ‘How’s my driving? Call 1-800-EAT-SHIT’.

*****

            “Hey, Dad, can we get started now?” Jamie exclaimed as he pulled a wooden chair up to his father’s desk.

            Alex bolted at the adolescent voice, almost tumbling backwards in his sturdy office chair. He overcorrected and slammed his hands down on the piles of papers covering his desk. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust. His son and the vast room flooded his vision. A dozen vacant desk, computers, and workstations littered the dim room. Forms and documents were stacked on each of the desks, but some were worse than others. Though, none were as clogged as his. His heart slowed its rapid pace.

            God, I hate that nightmare.

His eyes settled on his young son and he wiped the sweat from his forehead with a trembling sleeve. After taking a staggered breath, he asked,       “What’d you say, Jamie?”

            “Are you ready, Dad?”

            Alex relaxed his shoulders and flexed his fingers. His knuckles popped. “Sure, son…sure,” he muttered.

            He glanced at the desk. It was large enough to accommodate them both, but was cluttered from end to end. The edge of his faux-wood placard peeked out from beneath the far edge, announcing him to visitors as, ‘Detective Alex Drummond’. Jamie peered over the towering papers like an African tiger searching for prey in the grassy plains. His father set the stacks aside, clearing a space in front of the boy.

            Jamie set his spiral notebook on the desk and extracted a pin from the coiled, metal binding. He pressed down on the end, and the ballpoint clicked into position. The youth thumbed the top of his pen. It clicked, and he assumed a journalist’s calm that doubled his fourteen years. His jet black hair hung across his forehead in long tufts that reminded Alex of Clark Kent. It was a trait Alex had passed down. No one ever questioned who Jamie belonged to.

            “You know, Jamie, family’s the most important thing in life.” His thoughts turned back to the dream and his voice quivered, “When I was your age, I learned it the hard way.”

            “I know, Dad. You’ve told me about Grandpa.”

            Alex nodded. “Just make sure you remember that.”

            “I will.” He pinned Alex with dark, serious eyes that matched his own. The faint lamplight hovering over the desk illuminated their faces in stale yellow.

            Jamie cleared his throat before beginning. “Dad, I need to know about the most important thing that ever happened to you. Was there ever something that changed your life that much?”

            Alex smiled and leaned back in the ancient leather chair. It creaked like an old man’s rocker, but supported his slim frame. His head slipped into the shadows of the room. Everyone else had gone for the day.

            “Have you got time, son?” asked Alex in mock seriousness. “This may take a while.”

            Jamie rolled his eyes. “Yeah, Dad, but don’t take all year. I’ve gotta get this paper done before the week’s out.”

             “I’ll try not to let you starve.” Opening a desk drawer, the uniformed man pulled out a large container of beef jerky and sat it between them.            “Every man has a turning point in their life. I would have to say that mine is by far the most interesting story I’ve heard. I don’t know what set the events in motion. It defies all logic, but to this day I attribute it to sixteen days and a research project.”

            Jamie let out an exasperated sigh at the reference to school, a sore subject they often argued about. Alex chuckled with familiarity.  “When I was your age, I looked at life a lot like you do. I was a high achiever until I reached high school. But, there was one fateful day that changed my life forever.”

            “The day grandpa died?”

Alex nodded. “I was never the same after that. It started before I even made it to Madessa High School. Life at home fell apart after your grandfather passed. Your grandmother sold the house and moved us into a small trailer park. We stayed there, in Tranquil Heights. She found what work she could, but things were never the same. Before a year had passed, she even remarried. For the following three years, I walked to school, passing through town like a stranger. Before your grandfather died, I did everything by the book. I got good grades, did what Dad asked, and look how it ended up. By the time I realized something was changing, I had started my last year in high school.

“School had become a chore. Each day was the same, hours in classes where I did as little work as possible and still managed to pass. I had a pathetic excuse for a substitute father and didn’t look forward to going home, if you could even call it home. So, I always tried to make that walk from school last forever. It was never long enough.

“Each day I stopped by my father’s grave at the old cemetery. At the foot of his grave stood an ancient pine. I often sat under its drooping branches and stared at his gray tombstone. Other headstones mentioned time served in the military, like my father’s. At the time, I didn’t understand how something like that deserved to be remembered. It had been his decision, but I hated how much of his time it had stolen from me.”