The café had become her haven, a place where Grace would find relief from her grief and loneliness. Although the Café was helping her enormously in diminishing her pain, she was overlooking one simple, but an exceedingly important dynamic, something that she would surely never have, had her father been alive.
That by staying put at the Cafe until the wee morning hours at the secluded café, every single day she was setting herself as an easy target for someone who did not exactly “want coffee”.
Her months of undeniable loneliness were so intense, that it had obscured her sense of alertness and caution. She failed to realize that it would be rather unproblematic for someone who didn’t like her, wanted money, or worse... want her, to walk in at that time of the night and accost her; knowing fully well she would be there, all alone, vulnerable, playing piano, lost to the world in her thoughts.
But did the soft spoken, tender-hearted Grace, have any enemies at all? Not that she knew of. But did she?
Completely ignorant of someone who despised her existence, she continued to spend each evening at her favorite café playing piano for hours. She had no idea that while she was playing her piano thru the dead of the night in her café, in a room not too far off, sat a man on his revolving chair, planning to murder her; a perfect murder which no one would be able to pin on him.
Rings of smoke filled the air as Gustav Nilsson, son of Sherman Kingsbury’s friend, confidante, and a minor business partner, Ian Nilsson, went through his plan of murdering Grace Kingsbury, examining every detail of the plan microscopically. Gustav Nilsson knew that one small mistake could lead to his own destruction. The planning, as well as the execution, had to be utterly flawless. After considering his plan for a long time, he concluded it was indeed perfect and an evil grin lit up his repulsive face.
CHAPTER III
Steve Neal’s past could not elude him. He was a convict. He had spent five of his twenty eight years in prison. If one were to look at Steve Neal, it would be impossible to guess this six foot tall, ruggedly handsome man with neatly cropped light brown hair, and friendly blue eyes, could be a felon. But Steve was a felon, who had been to prison three times in the past seven years, for charges ranging from assault to petty theft. Steve was lucky that his age and good looks had helped him get away with lesser sentences else he might easily have spent several more years in prison.
But Steve was not remorseful of his transgressions, nor was he grateful to the judges/ juries for handing him lesser sentences than he obviously deserved. He believed whatever people did, was for their own selfish reasons. One could say Steve was a bitter person. And the reason for this bitterness lay in the incidents befallen in his past.
Steve was barely five years old when he had lost his mother and father in a deadly plane crash. His father was a professor at the local community college while his mother was manager of the local grocery store, and a Sunday school teacher. Steve’s parents were simple church going people who were well liked by their friends, members of their church, and the community of the little town in Indiana that they lived in.
When Steve was barely five years old, his parents decided to visit Ireland. They had worked hard the whole year to save money for a summer vacation in Ireland. Something they had dreamed of for a long time. Little did they realize that all the money they would carefully save each month, would buy tickets to their demise. The flight, they were travelling in, fell victim to a freak, but deadly thunderstorm, transforming a joyous and exciting day, into a shocking tragedy.
The plane carrying 189 passengers, including Steve’s parents, plunged to the ground, minutes before reaching the landing destination. Not one passenger or crew member survived—so great and destructive was the impact, when the plane crashed into the field just miles before the landing strip.
Prior to taking the star-crossed flight, Steve’s parents had chosen to leave him behind in the care of their kindly neighbors. They felt that Steve was way too young to enjoy a trip abroad, especially since it involved a grueling ten hour flight. The hard working couple badly needed a vacation, and they felt it was in the best interest of everyone—including young Steve’s—to stay home with their neighbors, who were also avid members of their church. They had entrusted Steve’s care with them as they had few times before. Little did they know what was in store for them or their beloved son.
The crash proved to be brutal in more than one sense. Steve’s life was abruptly turned upside down, orphaned by a cruel stroke of fate and Mother Nature’s fury.
And although Steve was too young to fully comprehend the magnitude of the tragedy, when it occurred, the innocent lad had to suffer the grave and extensive consequences of it. A month or so after the death of his parents, the neighbors, in whose care Steve was living, decided they couldn’t keep him forever and handed him over to the “system”. Soon Steve was sent off to live with foster parents.
His foster parents were nothing like Steve’s affectionate parents who doted on their only child. They were cruel individuals, especially the foster mom, who was especially unkind, even vicious, to young Steve. The couple had adopted Steve with the sole purpose of using him as a ploy for getting a fat monthly check from the county each month—in lieu of providing care. Beyond being a meal ticket Steve meant nothing to them. It was Ironic that they were harsh and callous to young Steve, whose very presence in their house made it possible for them to live a comfortable life without having to work.
Their cruelty and indifference made Steve’s life utterly miserable. He soon became a recluse and an introvert. But the tender-hearted, love starved child refused to give up on his foster parents and tried his utmost for ten long years to be a nice and respectful son to them, that he may win their hearts and approval and even more importantly, their love. For the boy was simply starving for love.
But in spite of all his efforts to win their love, he failed to earn their love or affection or even attention. Each time he tried to get close to them, he was rudely reminded how utterly insensitive, greedy, and cruel his foster-parents were. They cared as much for Steve as an aging widow cared about her looks… perhaps less.
By the time Steve turned fifteen, he had not only grown tired and frustrated with them but began to despise and hate them with all his heart and soul. Their cruelty and nastiness had changed Steve. On the one hand it turned him into a bitter recluse, with barely any friends while on the other hand, their wickedness had caused Steve to become a very tough individual - insensitive to cruelty. He knew that if he didn’t toughen up, and become thick-skinned, he would surely crack under the enormous pressure created by his foster parents’ malevolence. Becoming hard and tough was the only way to survive, in that oppressive environment --- in that miserable place called home. Steve chose what had to be, if he was to make a break and survive alone he will need to be tough. He increasingly detested his miserable life in their house. He wanted out, and he wanted revenge. He decided it was time to pay them back for what they had done to him, and what he had to endure the past ten years.
Steve knew how greedy his foster-parents were. He decided that the best way to exact revenge would be to make sure they stop getting the monthly payments they were receiving from the county. He knew that if it was discovered that he had disappeared from their house, the county would stop sending the money to them, and this would in turn deal a hard blow to his foster-parents who were avaricious beyond words and totally useless. The thought of going back to work to support themselves would throw them into a well-deserved panic and frenzy—for they had become disgustingly indolent and slothful.
Then they would realize his value… the value of a foster child! “I will show them that I will not be their monthly check any longer!” he promised himself. The mere thought of this plan gave Steve purpose and brought peace and joy to young Steve’s tormented heart.
It would be a sweet revenge, he decided. The thought of retribution (justice in Steve’s eyes) fuelled his resolution, and he started to plan an escape from t
his vile house.
Steve knew the moment his foster-parents learned about his disappearance, they would panic and notify the cops, who would then come looking for him.
And he was not willing to ever return to that life. He knew he had to put as many miles as he could between him and his foster parents—before they discovered that he had bolted. Steve needed money to facilitate his getaway.
“But where do I get the money from? These words would consume his thoughts, playing over and over again in his mind.
Then he remembered that barely a day before his parents had embarked on their ill-fated flight, his father had given him the heavy gold chain he always wore around his neck. “Stevie my boy, if you miss me while I and your Mom are away, wear this chain, and you will feel I am with you” his dad had lovingly told him.
As he remembered his father’s words, Steve’s eyes were filled with tears. “Daddy why did you leave me” he cried out in pain and anguish. But he knew his tears or anguish wouldn’t bring his father or mother back to him. He had to grapple with his situation alone. He had to get away from this abject place as far and as fast as he could. And for that his father’s gold chain would be the saving grace in his life.
He started planning his getaway. It took him almost a month of relentless thinking before he came up with a plan.
Steve’s foster parents went to bed late. Typically after 11 pm.
Steve decided the best time to decamp would be around 2 a.m. They would be too deep in sleep to hear any noise. Besides they wouldn’t bother even if they did hear something. His arrogance prevented him from caring! And they had no foresight to think Steve would try and leave, they thought him to be too cowardly to take such action.
His foster father would lock the front door and keep the keys under his pillow. He did not trust Steve. But in the day time, he was not cautious about the keys. He would hang them—with other keys— in the kitchen. He was sure Steve wouldn’t try anything audacious in the daytime. To him Steve was nothing more than a dimwitted wimp.
But Steve was not exactly what his foster parent thought of him. One day, before leaving for school, he pinched the key from the kitchen. And after school, he took the key to the key cutter at the local hardware store. He lied to the associate there that his dad had sent him to make a duplicate key since they had lost their duplicate key and the unsuspecting clerk had done exactly that—he cut the key for Steve. And when he returned home, Steve had carefully placed the key back in the kitchen. He was relieved to find that his foster father had not missed the key.
“I have the key, but what do I do once I am out of the house?” He wondered uneasily. What if a cop or a snoopy neighbor spots me? I will not only have to face the fury of my foster parents but the investigation of the police!
Besides once his foster parents found out his intentions of escaping, they would clamp down on him and make it impossible to escape the next time. The thought of getting stuck in this Godforsaken house until he was eighteen, alarmed Steve.
“No! I must make it in the first go! And for that, I have to have a solid escape plan” he reasoned.
He knew that his foster-parents usually woke at around 7 am and typically Steve would leave for school—which was close by— at 7.30 am.
On the day of his escape, although they would find him missing, they would think that he had left earlier for school. If his step-father found the key under the pillow he would instantly know Steve had fled the house, using a duplicate key. But if he could steal the keys from under his pillow and hang the key in the kitchen, his foster father would think, he had taken the key from under the pillow, opened the door, hung the key in the kitchen, and then left for school, a bit early.
Although his stepfather would be annoyed, he would be too arrogant and indifferent to think anything beyond the fact that Steve had the audacity to take the key from under his pillow, open the door and go out.
“The boy was too scared to wake me!” he would think conceitedly, he wasn’t likely to suspect anything more—he was too uncaring to anyways.
This would give Steve several hours before it would dawn on his foster parents that their foster-son had escaped their house. And each hour he would be further and further away from the vile couple!
Less than a mile from Steve’s house was a metro-station. Steve had diligently studied the arrivals and departures. There was a train every hour. He would catch the five a.m. express. Since it would be considered early morning rush hour, the ticket- cashier would not suspect anything was amiss. The boy is probably visiting a relative, they would surmise. Besides at fifteen Steve was almost 5 ft. 10 inches tall. He had a bit of stubble on his face too. If he wore a baseball hat and a dark long-sleeved shirt, he was confident that he could pass for an eighteen year old.
His plan was now in place and the tormented fifteen year old found he was smiling—something he seldom had a reason to do. The thought of escaping this house was exceedingly liberating and invigorating, as he touched his father’s chain that hung close to his heart, the smile on his face beamed like a ray of sunshine through a cloud after a storm. He was drawn to look at his dad and mom’s framed picture which sat on the table right next to his pillow and inquired lovingly “Dad, you knew that your chain would bring freedom to your son one day? Didn’t you?” Although Steve knew this was not logical thinking, the teenager wanted to believe it was that way. He found comfort and respite whenever he spoke to his father and mother.
And this had helped him prevent an existential break-down when his foster-parents were unleashing a barrage of cruelty on him. He would neutralize (or at least diminish the impact of) the deadly effects of their spitefulness by talking for long periods of time to his beloved parents, while holding their picture close.
CHAPTER IV
The very next day, after he had made his escape plan, Steve sold the gold chain to a jewelry store which purchased old gold jewelry promising to pay “top dollar”. Although Steve wasn’t sure if he had obtained “top dollar” for his father’s gold chain, he was surprised he received a thousand bucks for the chain. He had walked to the shop briskly after school, so that he could return home in time, without raising suspicions, or ire, of his foster-parents. The elderly jeweler was alone in his shop when Steve had entered. He was surprised to see such a young man presenting an expensive looking chain.
“That’s a mighty nice chain boy. Whose is it? He asked, looking inquisitively at Steve. But Steve did not blink or hesitate. With a straight face he replied “It was my dad’s chain sir, he gave it to me”.
That seemed to satisfy the old jeweler’s curiosity. He simply nodded his head, weighed the chain, opened the drawer, and counted 10 hundred dollars bill and handed them to Steve. Although thrilled at seeing all that money, his gateway to freedom, Steve knew that hundred dollar bills would raise eye brows everywhere he used them. He had to have tens, so he cautiously asked the old man “Can you please give me the money in ten dollar bills please?”
“What do you think I am a bank or something?” the old man replied in a curt voice. But before Steve could say anything, he went on “But I can do this; I can give you two hundred dollars in tens and eight hundred in hundred dollar bills. Now, do you want that?”
Steve was so relieved, that he could say nothing but nod his head vigorously.
The old man smiled and took back two bills from Steve and replaced them back in his drawer and counted twenty ten dollar bills and handed them to Steve.
“Here you are son. Be careful with what you do with all that money.”
He then looked straight into Steve’s eyes, winked, and said “Good luck son”.
Steve was still in a daze as he walked out of the old jeweler’s shop. He wondered if the old man knew what he was planning to do. Although there was no way for him to have known with certainty, still, Steve knew, the old man knew. And yet in a strange way he seemed to approve of what Steve was planning.
Steve also knew that the thousand dollars he got for the
chain would be enough to take him far out of the state of Indiana and the prison they called home.
On the night of escape, Steve had waited patiently until four in the morning, and then he had tiptoed into his foster-parents’ bedroom. He had found them snoring, and he gently placed his hand under his foster-father’s pillow, found the key, and then quietly he tip-toed out of the room and went straight to the kitchen. He then hung the keys there, and using his own duplicate key he had got cut from the hardware store, he silently stepped out stealth like and secret from his house, opened the small rusty gate gingerly, strode out and closed the gate into freedom. It was still pitch dark and completely deserted. He stood for a long moment staring at the house that had tormented him ceaselessly for ten long years. And before he realized what he was doing, he spat viciously towards the house, one last defiant act from a broken young man.
He then proceeded to the sidewalk, and walked briskly to the station – a mile away. He reached the station at 4:45 am, exactly as he had planned and right in time for the 5 am train.
He was relieved to see there was hardly anybody in the station waiting room. The three people who were there were too sleepy to care. Using the money he had received from the jeweler, Steve purchased the ticket electronically and waited for the train. The train arrived precisely at 5 am and Steve was the first one to board the train. There were scarcely any people in the car, and like the waiting room, they were too sleepy to gaze at a five feet ten inch tall teen that looked older than his years.
But it was only when the train started moving, that Steve fully comprehended that he had done it! He had beaten the old scalawags! He knew at that moment he would never see them again in his life. His flight from his miserable house and despicable foster-parents filled him with great joy and exhilaration. He had never felt like this before and he wanted to pump the air with his fist and cry out loudly… a cry of joy and victory! But he restrained himself. He did not want to attract attention. He wanted nothing to come between him and his newly found freedom.
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