by Lin Larson
“I promise,” Sam chuckled. He liked her. “I’ll be very nice.” He turned toward the television and settled on a vacant stool.
Agnes poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him carefully. She continued, “This is that reporter Elizabeth Martin. She’s looking into the disappearance of that novelist, Sam Stone. You were looking at his book over there. He’s a smart fellow, handsome man too. I can’t believe he could do all those terrible things that they say. I saw him once on a talk show. He was real nice, charming too. Oh, here she comes on again, quiet now.” She waved her slim, arthritic-marred hands to hush him.
“Yes ma’am.” Sam found her enchanting.
She turned to the television, however, and his delight quickly vanished.
“Who is Samuel Stone? People have been asking this for months, ever since his strange disappearance. Could a person in the public eye seem to be so sane and do such tragic and horrific acts?”
We are standing here next to his girlfriend. Miss Suzanne Colton, can you tell us about this man, Mr. Stone? Why would he bomb a hospital and kill innocent people?”
Sam’s Susie looked frightened and confused. “No comment. I don’t know anything. I just think that he would not do those things. He wouldn’t hurt anyone. Excuse me, please.” She tried to pull away from the microphone.
“Wait. Did he tell you why he left town, Miss Colton?” Elizabeth Martin was not about to let Susie get away.
“He said that his brother was in trouble and he needed to see him,” Susie said quickly.
“Did he seem sane?” Martin jumped in again.
“Yes, of course, very.”
“Did he ever have war flashbacks?” Martin pushed further.
“No comment.” Susie said as she tried to move away. Poor Susie, Sam thought. I’m so sorry they’re doing this to you.
Martin followed her. “Do you still love him? Would you take him back?”
“None of your business, Miss Martin.” Susie fired back. She’d had it. “This interview is over.” Susie pushed the microphone aside and turned her back to the cameras.
That a girl! Sam felt better. Don’t let anyone push you around, Susie. Sam felt sad though. He wondered if he’d ever see her again.
“Thank you,” Miss Colton. We did learn something. Tomorrow we shall interview Silas Jensen of the FBI. Will he fill in the missing pieces? Tune in for my special report on- “The Disappearance of Writer Sam Stone.”
“That’s one pushy dame. I like her.” Agnes grunted.
“You know, I do too.” Sam stood and stretched his legs. “I’ve got to brave the Arctic blizzard again.”
“You are not going out in only that sweater, young man. Here, this old coat belonged to my husband. Borrow it and bring it back tomorrow, you hear. I trust ya.” She rose and draped a long topcoat over his shoulders. Sam could just imagine the old lady trudging through the snow drifts to give it to her husband.”
“Young man, eh?” He smiled with amusement as he rubbed his grey beard. He imagined by morning that his beard would be dark brown again. The snow would probably sop his dye job. Then Sam got serious “But what will you wear? I don’t see another coat hanging there.”
She waved him off. “I’ll just stay here for the night. It’s too cold outside for my old bones and arthritis anyway.” Her face wrinkled into an affectionate look. “I like you, Mister. Come back tomorrow, and we’ll watch the rest of that lady reporter’s interviews.”
“I just might do that. But I will definitely return the coat. Thank you.” He bent and lifted up her small frail hand and kissed it lightly. “Thank you, Ma’am.”
She giggled like a school girl. “Get on now. You men. You sure know how to flirt with an old crone.”
Sam felt such admiration for this woman. “Never a crone. You are a lovely and very kind lady. I’m so happy that I met you. You cheered me up. Thank you again.”.
Sam heaved the door open, looked at the roaring blizzard and stepped out. He shut the door firmly behind him. The wind was fighting his every step now, but he rather enjoyed it. He pulled himself along and cleared his mind of only one thing. He would write to Elizabeth Martin upon reaching home. She just might believe him. He’d have to mail the envelope from somewhere else though. Yes, he’d take the train to Chicago and send it from there. He wondered though- Do they have trains to Chicago from this small a town? Or an airport? He could maybe fly to Chicago in the morning and hope he wasn’t recognized.
Over and over he formed the words to his letter in his mind, as he walked. He feared that Elizabeth Martin might not believe all he had to say. It would sound absurd. But she’d have to believe it. He would see to it. If he had to meet her in some dark alley, he’d do so. He was sick of hiding. He clutched the coat tighter around him. It must be getting colder, he speculated. Nice weather for a walk in the outdoors. Sam laughed to himself. He thought of Agnes. I am so grateful for her coat. Good people turn up in the most unexpected places, like when you need them.
The snow was piling up now into massive drifts. Sam’s feet were beginning to feel numb. California’s warmth seemed far away. He wanted to look at the magical wonderland being created about him, but he felt forced by the pounding wind to lower his head. It seemed to say that he didn’t belong so don’t bother to enjoy it. He was going to take it all in, however, because he felt he might never return and certainly not to this moment, when no matter how much you fight to assert your power, nature always wins. It deserved to conquer; nature brought order, even in death. Man brought chaos. He could stop here near this old maple tree and just disappear into the whiteness which rose up beside it. But maybe the snow wasn’t meant to bury the ugliness and hide it forever, perhaps it cleaned it away and left everything in life new and fresh.
Sam inhaled the crisp moist air. He felt good. He’d been walking around like a wounded animal, but no more. The dizziness he felt at the lecture was probably caused by his feeling of guilt. But what had he to feel guilty for? Let’s leave that to Jensen. Of course, Jensen was too insane to feel remorse.
He couldn’t wait now to get home to Alex. He turned the corner of his last block and increased his pace. The little faculty cottage nestled in the drifts like a toy house in a bowl of marshmallows. It seemed so unreal compared to his apartment in L.A. with all its adobe stylings and Spanish décor. He turned the cold doorknob with his numb fingers. It’s great not having to lock the doors here; it’s the way people should always live, free from fear. Sam stomped his snow-caked feet on the mat and looked up, just as Sarah leaped into his arms.
CHAPTER 24
“Daddy Matt do you see the snow? Will you play with me in it? Mommy says you’ll help me make a snowman, please please.” Sarah’s clear blue eyes pleaded. “I did all my work today in school. Please?”
Sam gave her a squeeze and quick kiss and then sat his squirming little girl on her feet. “It’s dark and cold outside, wouldn’t you rather go out in the morning. We might build our Frosty cockeyed.”
“What’s cockeyed?” She liked the word and giggled as she jumped up and down.
“Well,” Sam’s eyes twinkled, “Frosty’s carrot nose might be where his ears are, and his eyes might look out the back of his head. He would look very funny. We would laugh at him, and he would cry big icicle tears.”
“I wouldn’t laugh at Frosty,” Sarah’s little face became serious.
“I would, I would go- ho, ho, ho!”
“No, you wouldn’t Daddy,” she laughed brightly.
Sam liked when she omitted the Matt on Daddy. He adored this little girl, but who wouldn’t? Jensen must miss her terribly, if he still has a heart.
Sam scooped up Sarah again. She planted a sweet kiss on his face. “I love you, Daddy. Can I see how dark it is outside?”
“Sure, let’s open this door slowly though, so we don’t wake it up. The darkness wants to sleep like little girls.” Sam opened the door, and they peered out at the lovely snow-covered bushes, trees, and street, lying c
uddled in their veil of darkness. “It’s so pretty, like you.”
“Shh, Daddy, we don’t want to wake it up,” Sarah whispered.
“Okay” Sam spoke softly and heaved Sarah up to his shoulders, just as Alex poked her head in the doorway.
“You two sure are quiet. Weren’t you supposed to be in bed, Angel?” Alex teased.
“I was waiting for Daddy Matt, so we could make a snowman,” Sarah said sweetly.
“Daddy Matt can help you make one in the morning,” she said.
“Daddy said the dark is sleeping,” whispered Sarah, as she brought her finger up to her mouth like a hush sound.
“Oh, he did, did he? He’s clever, and he must be right,” Alex chuckled, as she took Sarah into her arms. “Say Night Night to Daddy Matt now.”
“I want Daddy to take me to bed too, please Mommy,” Sarah coaxed as she held onto Sam’s neck.
“Daddy’s got company, he’ll say good-night now, and he’ll carry you up tomorrow night.” Alex looked at Sam and nodded to the living room behind the partition.
“Who is it?” Sam curiously mouthed the words.
“Heather and Company,” Alex whispered back and batted her eyelashes coyly.
“Not now,” he grimaced and whispered. “It’s late.”
“I agree, good luck, sexy,” she said softly. Alex pulled Sarah’s little hands from around Sam’s neck. “Say night, Daddy,” said Alex, as she bounced Sarah in her arms as they mounted the stairs.
“Night, Daddy,” Sarah called back.
“Night, Sarah,” Sam called back. He loved this child. He didn’t want to ever lose her.
Sam strolled into his small comfortable living room and sank into the old leather chair. “Okay, kids, what’s so important that you have to interrupt my privacy on a gorgeous night like this?” Sam spoke as a friend, but he was annoyed. He lit a cigarette from the small box by the lamp. He usually didn’t smoke, the cigarettes were mainly for Alex, but tonight, facing these eager youngsters, he felt like bracing himself with a cancer stick. He didn’t ask if they minded. He almost hoped that they did, so they’d leave and he could enjoy being with Alex.
He flashed on the idea that he had never made love in a snowstorm, not since his marriage to Mandy, in New York. That was a lifetime ago. Sex with someone you’re crazy about, as the wind bellow and rattles the walls, now that sounds better than chatting with these kids. Plus, he was suddenly exhausted.
Sam exhaled slowly from the cigarette. “Okay now, we shouldn’t sit in silence. What’s up? What’s the problem, kids?”
“Sir, our problem may just be yours.” Heather fingered the cold muzzle of the gun in her skirt pocket. She hoped the bulge didn’t show. She felt a little ridiculous but also scared. What if her teacher is a cold-blooded killer? She glanced over at Eddie. His upper lip glistened with sweat on this cold night.
Sam sat forward. “You’ve captured my interest, young lady. Go for it.” Sam figured it was about teaching, his teaching, but a strange sensation of uneasiness tickled his neck. He rubbed it involuntarily.
“Professor, I’ll be blunt.” Despite Heather’s bravado, she swallowed hard and took a deep breath.
“Please do, Miss St. John.” Sam smiled through his beard. He rather enjoyed her uneasiness.
Heather pulled a strand of her long red hair behind her ear and paused.
Eddie watched in fascination.
Then she dropped her bombshell. “Are you Sam Stone, the writer?”
Sam didn’t say a word. The air seemed so heavy that no one in the room could breathe. Finally, he spoke. He could have like lied, but he didn’t want to, not anymore. “Yes.”
Heather and Eddie almost fell out of their chairs. They scrambled in unison to their feet.
“Oh, now, you don’t want to leave so soon after opening Pandora’s box?”
Sam did not rise, but his voice stopped Heather and Edward.
Heather was trembling. Eddie grabbed her hand, and together they fumbled for the gun.
“Don’t move, sir!” Eddie held the handle tightly. “Heather, call somebody, the cops.” He felt like he was in a movie. Eddie held the gun and pointed it straight at the tall bearded man in the chair.
Sam’s deep brown eyes looked steadily through the billowing smoke from his cigarette. He took a last drag and then smashed the stem in the ashtray. “No, don’t do that. Don’t call anyone. I’m simply a writer who stumbled on a national threat and tried to destroy it. I failed to eliminate the big guy. That was my mistake and why I’m here. I’m not the perpetrator. I am a victim.” Sam rubbed is beard slowly. “How did you recognize me?”
“You’re famous,” Eddie murmured while still holding tightly to the gun. “Doesn’t eliminate sound rather nasty?”
Sam chuckled at the absurdity of his situation. Here he was caught, not by Jensen but by his students. “Yes, it does, and it is.”
Heather slowly took the gun from Eddie. She cleared her throat and enunciated with determination. “We need to know more before we help you.”
“Oh, you’re going to help me.” Sam’s amusement turned introspective. “No, you might get hurt. Where did you get the gun?”
“It’s my mom’s,” she said simply.
“Put it away, I’m not going to hurt you.” Heather nervously put the gun in her pocket.
Suddenly there was nothing to say except pour out his story, and so Sam did.
Eddie was the first to respond “Wow! That would make a great book.”
Heather nudged him. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend and brother,” she said.
Sam, finally stood. He walked aimlessly toward the window and viewed the snow outside. His life no longer appeared simple and inviting.
“Me too. I’m sorry too.” He spoke almost to the window, and not so much to his students. “Have you heard that reporter, Elizabeth Martin, on television? She might see our side, if I can get it out. Can you try and get to her in the morning if I write it all down?”
Heather spoke too quickly. “No problem.”
Sam turned back. “It might not be that easy, getting to her.”
“Sure it will. She, she’s my mother.” Heather said merrily.
Even Eddie turned in awe. “She’s your mother?” Eddie gulped. “She’s a super reporter.”
My mom thinks so too.” Heather retorted. “That’s our problem. I have to measure up.”
“You will,” Sam said. He was beginning to like Heather. There was more to her than just great looks and a silly surface personality. “Heather, you can prove yourself without getting mixed up in this. Maybe you shouldn’t; I have no right to ask.”
“Ah, but I’ll get a great story from it, as Eddie says, or my mother will or you. Either way, I’ll be respected.”
“Yes, you will be,” Sam smiled warmly. “Thanks, but we are up against a tyrannosaurus rex of a nasty guy.”
“Nothing’s too big, with friends helping you.” Heather proclaimed.
“Heather you have a wonderful heart,” Sam felt moved.
“You bet I do, Sir.” She leaned over and shook his hand. “Mr. Stone, I’ve always wanted to meet you.”
He bowed his head. “And I you, Heather,” Sam said honestly. “There might be danger here though.”
“I’ll be fine,” Heather said quietly.
“Okay,” Sam tucked in his emotions. “Let’s get some sleep. Can you navigate through the snow? We’ll meet in the morning at say 8 A.M.” unless you call me. Sam wrote the number down on a pad of paper and ripped off the number. He handed it to Heather. Heather handed it to Eddie, “Eddie will hold it. Right, Eddie.” A smile filled Eddie’s face. “Yes, I’ll hold it, Heather.”
“Professor? Um, Mr. Stone?” Heather dug in her pocket.
“Yes?” said Sam.
“You take this. You may need it more than I do.” She handed Sam her gun. “My mom probably forgot she had it anyway.”
“Thank you, Heather.” He emptied the barrel of bullets. �
��You trust me.”
“Yes, I do. I am never wrong.”
“You have courage, Heather. You too, Eddie.”
Heather bit her lip with embarrassment and then walked to the door, opened it, and skipped down the snow-covered steps. She looked back at Eddie. “Come on, Eddie. The snow’s not yet slippery. It’s beautiful.”
Eddie beamed and followed her.
“Be careful, kids.”
“We will. We were born here,” They said in unison and laughed. They were children again, relieved of the sometimes terrible burden of adulthood, for a time.
Heather leaned over and molded a snowball. “Good packing, but light.” She looked at Sam and then mischievously aimed one at Eddie. “He’s cute, isn’t he?”
“Yep” Sam roared with laughter. “Go get him, kid, and she did.”
Sam closed the door and smiled at the thought of their horseplay. He leaned against the door and relaxed.
He ran his hand through his shaggy grey haircut. This annoying disguise isn’t very effective with kids, he thought.
“Sam,” Alex stifled a yawn, as she sat on the old stair step. “Did you enjoy lovely Heather.”
“Yes, I ripped off her clothes and quoted Carl Sandberg.” Sam said wickedly. ‘Maybe that was my mistake. She seems to have thrown me over for her young fellow, Eddie.”
“She’s young.” Alex continued the tease.
“Yes, but oh, Heather has that glorious red hair.”
Alex flipped her short curls. “But, you love brunettes.”
“Yes, that’s true. I think I do,” Sam scooped her up. “Now, how will I get the lights?” He looked around.
“Do we have to?”
“Yeah, I’m shy.” He chuckled and carried her and twisted and turned precariously at each light switch. Finally, they teetered up the stairs, and he threw her on the bed. “Do you feel like a jolly newlywed?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. But, I’m not too innocent.” Alex said as she pulled Sam down beside her.