Bumstead's Well

by R E Swirsky

  Jennifer finally let the truth escape one afternoon after Chris rushed out again to pick up Arlene from across town. He drove right past Jennifer on his way back home with Arlene without stopping while Jennifer walked herself home from shopping at the drugstore in town. Chris claimed he didn’t see her. Jennifer was furious and ripped into her father and Arlene the moment she entered the house.

  "Another sleepover at Marriana's, hey, Arlene?" Jennifer shouted as she walked through the front door.

  Arlene's eyes grew big. "Yes, why?"

  Jennifer smiled maliciously at Arlene and then looked at her father. "Do you even know where Marriana lives, dad?"

  Chris' attention was aroused.

  Arlene squirmed about nervously. "He knows where."

  "Does he really?"

  Arlene shook her head and pleaded for Jennifer to say anything more.

  Chris frowned as he listened to his two daughters argue. He didn't understand what it was all about.

  "Dad, you really do know where Marriana lives, don’t you?"

  "I just picked Arlene up from Marriana's. Of course I know where she lives."

  Arlene lunged herself across the room and threw herself at Jennifer. The two girls fell to the floor and began to scuffle about, wrestling and pulling hair. Arlene tried to cover Jennifer's mouth with her hand and she screamed obscenities at her. Jennifer fended off the blows of her younger sister and feigned laughter to taunt her even further as they rolled about.

  "Damn it, you two! Stop this fighting right now! Jennifer, get the hell off of Arlene." He reached in and pulled Jennifer away from Arlene.

  "Marriana doesn't even live where you picked Arlene up this morning!" Jennifer shouted.

  "Shut up, Jennifer! Don't you dare say any more! Just don't! Please don’t!"

  "What the hell is going on here?" Chris shouted.

  "It's Marriana's brother, Tommy, who rents that house you picked her up at today. She hasn’t been sleeping over with Marriana! Marriana still lives up on Sherman's Hill with her parents!"

  Chris held one of each of his daughter's wrists in each hand. He tried to comprehend what he had just heard. He let go of Jennifer and stared dumbstruck at his favourite daughter, Arlene.

  "Tommy Puck?" He shook his head in disbelief. "The sleepovers are with Tommy Puck?" This town just wasn't that big, and Chris knew all about Marriana Puck's long-haired, eighteen year old brother, Tommy.

  Arlene cowered and looked away from her father.

  Chris released his grip on his daughter and stepped back. He looked at her from top to bottom. His disbelief turned into shame and disgust.

  "Is this true? Really? That drunken, lazy-ass son of Peter Puck?"

  Arlene met his eyes but offered no reply in defence against Jennifer's accusation. Chris could see the truth buried deep in the emotionless black pools of her eyes.

  "Damn you!" he said. He raised his hand in the air to back hand her across the face, but he stopped. This was his little girl. She had always been his pride and joy. He always thought she was so absolutely perfect and they shared so much between them. He felt like such a fool. She was nothing but a decorated boiled egg that had been left out on the counter for too many days.

  Chris put his hand up to cover his mouth in attempt to stifle the words that threatened to come out. He said nothing in the end. He knew it was too late. Many thoughts crossed through his mind that day. Arlene chose her path, and he was no longer a part of her life.

  In the years that followed, Chris treated her much differently. In public, he appeared to have all the love and admiration for her that he always had, but in private, he avoided her. It hurt deeply that she had so easily fooled him. He didn’t trust her. She had feigned her love for him, and it cut him like a knife.

  Arlene broke off the relationship with Tommy Puck immediately in hopes that it would allow her back into her father’s good graces, but Chris denied the intimacy they once shared. He never told Anita about Tommy, and he never asked his wife if she knew about Tommy. Life moved on, and Arlene grew up into a woman who he saw only ever pretending to care. Chris, of course, knew about the string of young men she slept with thereafter as he began to keep tabs on her. He also knew there were drugs involved wherever she went, but he still said nothing.

  Anita did her best to help Arlene settle down after high school graduation, but it was a difficult task. Jennifer and Charlie both went off to university and college, but Arlene continued to live in the shadows. She bounced from boyfriend to boyfriend as the years passed by. At twenty-nine, she became pregnant by her newest boyfriend Scott. Anita knew it was imperative to step in to help Arlene set up a decent home with Scott, so she opened up her purse and rented a small house for the two of them. Arlene soon benefited unlike the other children from gifts from Anita that were meant to give Arlene solid roots and a firm foundation to raise a child with Scott. Chris once again said nothing as Anita invested her time and money in the most foolish of ways. But Anita was not able to anchor Arlene and Scott, and a few weeks before the child was born, Scott disappeared. None of them ever heard from him again.

  Anita continued to shell out money and gifts for Arlene after Scott ran off. Anita loved antiques, and Arlene mimicked her mother's love. The small rental home was soon outfitted with antique chairs, dressers and anything else she could find that Arlene showed an interest in. If the two were out shopping and Arlene cast her eyes upon a rare coil oil lamp that was made of cultured marble, it would be sitting on the mantle in the small rental within the day. Antique tapestries lined the wall, hump back oak trunks sat in every corner, Queen Anne mahogany chairs sat around the oak table, and numerous other articles filled every empty space of the small house. The china cabinet soon sparkled with the royal blue and bright orange glassware that was the envy of the true collectors. Anita even provided Arlene with her grandmother's handmade crochet bedcover that was well over one hundred years old simply because it made the master bedroom look like the image from a magazine cover. It was laid upon the Grape Victorian bed for which Anita shelled out over $1800.

  Little Vincent grew up quickly, and Anita showered the grandchild with gifts, clothes and anything Arlene needed or asked for. Chris stepped aside and let Arlene become Anita's little project. The relationship between him and Arlene remained the same: cold and distant. Chris knew of Arlene’s dark side, and he blamed himself for helping her foster it. He suspected that even with Anita's influence, Arlene’s lust for drugs and bad men would never cease. Chris saw very little of young Vincent as Arlene kept herself and her son hidden from his large house with the exception of the family gatherings Anita organized.

  But despite all of Anita's efforts to help her daughter, every expensive item in the small rental home suddenly vanished in a single day. Arlene had surrendered it all at a fraction of its worth in a hasty lump-sum deal with Randal's auction house. Anita was furious. Her anger was not due to the loss of her time and the investment of tens of thousands of dollars, but it was because she realized little Vincent had truthfully been nothing more than a burden to Arlene. She felt terribly deceived and disappointed. It was an unfathomable act of selfishness and heartlessness to abandon her son on their doorstep. She wanted desperately to understand how and why Arlene could have committed such an act. She had her suspicions, and she vowed to Chris that she would get to the bottom of it.

  Chris said nothing through the entire event because he expected nothing different from his daughter. When Anita approached Chris to discuss the subject, he closed her off. Arlene would not be a topic of discussion between them again. If Anita wanted to find out why their youngest daughter committed such a vile act, she would have to find someone else to join her quest or give it up altogether. Chris wanted nothing more to do with Arlene. Anita finally quit trying. For nearly ten full years, Arlene's name was not mentioned in his presence.

  Now Arlene was back.

  CHAPTER 24 Day Four - Monday 12:25 PM

  Vincent readied himself to rele
ase another large stone to the pile as he closed in on the half-way point. His feet throbbed terribly from bracing his weight deep in the holes where the stones once rested. He shifted positions again until his left foot wedged into the higher hole in the wall. He didn’t know so many places on his feet could hurt so much at once.

  No part of his body was immune from the pain the relentless climbing, reaching, and stretching inflicted on him. There was no place soft to comfortably rest his tired and aching body when he returned to the bottom. His groin suffered the worst; the pain and aches started deep inside his thighs and traveled through all the muscles and tendons down to his knees, ankles, and feet. His legs spasmodically wobbled and trembled as he kept them stretched far across the void from side to side. He held on as long as he could before he was forced to shift positions . His fingers were scraped right to the very tip and worn raw to the point of bleeding in places. They felt swollen and fat. His arms and shoulders fared no better, and it hurt more each time to raise them above his head while holding tight to the rope. Dry dirt rubbed into the scrapes and open sores added to the discomfort.

  "You, my friend, are very stubborn," he said to his current stone. The stone was larger than most he already removed, and it would not come free even though it appeared nothing was holding it in place. "I name you Darrel." He forced out a small laugh.

  Vincent had resorted to talking to the stones. Gramps often used Darrel as the example of what not to do if you aspired to succeed in life. He called Darrel stubborn because he refused to agree to his father's repeated requests to accept a position at the family business. Darrel finally succumbed to his father’s plea to join him, and now they work side by side. Vincent thought they seemed to get along well.

  Another fifteen minutes of tugging finally freed the stone named Darrel. Vincent let it fall like the others to the bottom. He heard it smack another stone on the bottom and bounce off somewhere. He looked up towards the opening above and was pleased. He was very close to the half-way point and decided he was close enough to treat himself to a short rest. He desperately wanted to devour what remained of his water. His throat was parched, and it was difficult to swallow.

  He descended with the help of the rope, stumbled over the stones that now covered much of the bottom of the well, and sat down on the stool.

  He grabbed Aaron’s bag and tugged it towards him, but it refused to move.

  "What the…"

  He yanked harder and the bag suddenly lurched forward. The rock he’d named Darrel and let fall to the bottom had been resting on the end of the bag. It tumbled off to the side with Vincent’s pull.

  Vincent reached his hand deep inside the open bag and felt around for his last half bottle of water.

  "Hell no," he said in disbelief.

  He stopped moving and slowly pulled out his hand. It was wet.

  "Oh, God! Please no!" he shouted. He reached back inside, felt around with his fingers until he grabbed hold of the bottle, and snatched it out from the bag. He didn’t have to even look at the bottle to know it was empty.

  "You are fucking kidding me!" he shouted.

  The stone named Darrel crushed and cracked the bottle allowing the remaining water to escape and soak through the fabric of Aaron's duffel bag.

  Vincent devoured the few drops that remained in the bottle. He opened the bag and searched for pooled water he could suck up, but there was only dampness inside.

  "I can’t…"

  Vincent buried his head in his hands and wept. He tried to swallow, but his throat closed in on itself and caused him to wheeze and cough in short spasms. He bent over and forced himself to breathe shallow, short breathes until he recovered.

  "I’m so sorry, Gramps. You too, Gram. Please forgive me," he whispered in a raspy tone. “Forgive me.”

  Water was essential. With all of his water gone, it seemed all hope was siphoned off with it. It was early in the afternoon, and he'd only made it half way up the wall. He doubted if he could even climb back up the rope in his present state. A vision of falling from the rope and fracturing a number of bones suddenly replaced his once blind optimism of escaping to freedom.

  He was doomed.

  CHAPTER 25 Day Four - Monday 12:53 PM

  Chris remained seated in the front room and let Arlene help Anita clear the lunch dishes. There was something odd about the way Arlene eased right into caring and tending to his wife. They got along so very well, almost as if they had never been separated for all those years. He couldn't imagine his other two children being this attentive, but they each had their own busy life and family to look after.

  His thoughts drifted out to Vancouver and what he knew about his estranged daughter. After arriving in the lower mainland with her boyfriend Roo, the two immersed themselves deep into the drug crowd: selling, buying, using, and carting. They did anything to make a buck to keep them in supply, so long as it wasn’t a real job. He discovered that Arlene briefly worked the till at Shopper's Drug Mart, and his hopes for his daughter rose, but it was short lived. Having to get up early and work according to someone else's schedule was just not in Arlene's playbook.

  Then something happened, and Roo was suddenly no longer in the picture. Even his private eyes failed to find where and why he disappeared. Rumour had it that he was murdered in a drug deal gone bad, but no trace of him or his body was ever found. Roo was gone and Arlene soon resorted to turning tricks on the street all on her own. "Candy Q" was the name she settled on for her new career. Her phoney ID listed her as Candace Youngman from Thunder Bay, Ontario, born eleven years later than her true birthdate.

  The doorbell rang and broke Chris' train of thought. He shuffled quickly to the door.

  "I've got it," he called out.

  He opened the door to Detective Daly and Officer Wu.

  "Who is it dear," Anita asked and poked her head out from the kitchen.

  "It's just Dean. You finish up in the kitchen with Arlene. I'll deal with this."

  Anita nodded and disappeared back into the kitchen.

  "Sorry for the intrusion, Chris, but I wanted to stop by.” He motioned to the young officer standing next to him. “You have met our newest officer, haven’t you?" Dean asked.

  "Can't say we've formally met," Chris replied looking at the young Asian officer.

  The officer leaned forward with his arm extended. "Good evening Mr. Pattison. I'm Officer Jet Wu. I'm sort of tied to Dean’s hip most days. I was here the day after the accident."

  Chris shook his hand. “Oh, that’s right,” he replied and pointed across the room in the direction of the house across the road where Vincent’s friend Roger lived.

  Officer Wu smiled brightly, something he seemed to do often. His bold white teeth softened the hardness of his chiseled, athletic profile.

  "This is what I stopped by for." Dean held forward a small paper bag.

  "What's this?" Chris asked curiously, as he reached for the bag.

  "Vincent's belongings. You didn’t take them from the morgue on Saturday after you signed for them. I just thought I'd save you the trip."

  Chris looked inside and saw one clear Ziploc bag containing all of the items he already saw in the tray at the morgue.

  "You didn't have to come all the way over here just for this."

  "I know. But we've known each other a long time, Chris. It's the least I could do."

  Chris nodded. "Not so long really. Five years is all."

  Chris and Anita had always made a point of helping out in the community at fundraisers and benefits, and Dean was often present with the police presence at those events.

  Dean smiled. "It seems like longer."

  "Vincent's funeral is tomorrow at ten down at Barclay's," Chris said. "You are welcome to come."

  Dean shook his head. "No, I really can't. I try to distance myself from funerals… for the locals. I know too many people around here now, and I just..."

  "I understand," Chris replied before Dean finished. Chris looked back into the paper
bag. "What about his truck?"

  “Ayuh. The truck is… well… You can imagine it what it’s like. We had it towed to our lot. I'll release it to the salvage company as soon as the insurance company gives me the go ahead."

  Chris nodded again. "But what I meant… Was there anything else of Vincent's inside the truck? Personal things, I mean."

  Dean glanced over at Jet, frowned, and shook his head. "That truck was bust up pretty bad, Chris. What you have there in the bag is all we got of Vincent's. Why? Is there something missing?"

  "No, No. I just wondered, that's all. I thought maybe there was something that could explain why this happened to him."

  "Mrs. Gardwinder flipped her rig and blocked both lanes of the highway. That's why this happened. The road comes right out of that straight section into that tight corner. We've had a lot of accident's down there. You know the one, Chris, out past the Bumstead farm. There have been petitions to get that corner straightened three times in the past ten years, but the municipality turns it down every time it comes up. They say they don’t have the funds."

  "They've turned it down because no one's ever been killed there before. That's why," Chris said. He was suddenly very upset. He realized this tragedy could have been prevented if only that section of road had been straightened.

  "You are right about that."

  "If it was one of their kids killed in an accident out there, I'd bet the Goddamned funding would be available!" he shouted. "I've a mind to take a photo of Vincent's torched body down to that bloody office and pin it to one of their Goddamned foreheads! Damn it! And if you see any of those bastards, you can tell them they killed my grandson by sitting on their bloody asses! What the hell do we pay them for? You tell me, Dean!"