Bumstead's Well

by R E Swirsky

Is this what was it was like to sign your life away? It was definitely an un-revocable action that led exclusively in one direction. Soon the night visits over at Steelwood would commence, and he'd have nothing but cool, empty sheets to accompany him through the night. Nearly sixty years next to her would end with a few quick strokes of ink on a piece of white paper. He wanted to cry but held back for Anita's sake. Three to four weeks was all he had left with her. And then what?

  It was distressing enough that the dementia was pilfering her mind away in small pieces. It was now beginning to snatch her away in small physical pieces as well. It just wasn't fair.

  CHAPTER 58 Day Thirteen - Wed 11:10 AM

  Chris sat alone in his study with the door closed and the drapes pulled shut. Only a single desk lamp lit the room. He knew he had to do something. Five interminable days passed since he spotted the skull at the bottom of the well, and he did nothing about it so far. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do, but if the photos Officer Wu took were clear enough to expose the existence of a skull, it wouldn’t be long before someone, probably Dean, knocked on his door.

  "Goddamn it," Chris commented aloud. Anita was already stressed enough with her dementia. She certainly didn't need the added stress of that Goddamned skull. He tapped his frail fingers repeatedly on the desk as the smoke from his cigarette swirled about his head for a few seconds before scurrying away to oblivion.

  "What to do? What to do?"

  He ruminated about the circumstances that were slowly enveloping him and his family. A half hour passed by as he attempted to pull things into perspective. As with any problem, he just needed to break things down, simplify, separate, and disconnect all of the pertinent facts from one another.

  Fact one: there was a skull lying at the bottom of the well. There was no denying this fact.

  Fact two: there were photos taken inside the well. What the photos exposed was unclear. The skull may be clearly visible in the photos.

  Fact three: the photos were taken with Dean’s phone by Officer Wu. He had no idea where the phone was now.

  Maybe Officer Wu didn't have the camera at all anymore. Surely he must have given it back to Dean by now.

  "Shit," Chris whispered. It was very possible that he was already too late.

  He pondered and reassessed for what he knew to be true until he invariably came back to Fact one and Fact two. Those were the facts that would certainly incriminate him. If there was any type of investigation into a human skull found at the bottom of a well, there would be no stopping it. It would continue to pick up speed and eventually turn into a mammoth that would ultimately crash right through his front door. He couldn’t put Anita through all that again.

  Was it even possible to separate Fact one and Fact two?

  He puzzled along with a few more cigarettes and something so minor and small began to stick out. It was just a little thing he hadn’t really paid attention to until now. Officer Wu had said he really didn't care about the photos nor what went on down inside the well. Only Dean wanted to see the photos.

  Five days now passed. If Dean was so eager to see those photos, why hadn't Dean showed up? If Dean saw a skull in one of the photos, he most certainly would have dropped by with questions for Vincent. Dean had not come around to see Vincent and that could only mean one thing: Dean had not seen the photos.

  And didn't Anita say Officer Wu came by the house to see him and Vincent? He asked Arlene what Officer Wu wanted after she returned from her walk that day, and she confirmed what Anita said. “He would be back later to see him and Vincent.” He waited at home all afternoon but Officer Wu didn’t show.

  Chris stopped tapping. He lit another cigarette and drew the smoke in deep. It fed the cancer that grew undetected inside his lungs. The cigarettes that were slowly killing him also helped him focus and understand things more clearly. There was a possible solution to the problem forming in his mind.

  Had Officer Wu failed to return the camera to Dean?

  A smugness overcame Chris. The many wrinkles upon his old face shifted into a mischievous smile.

  If Jet still had the camera and Dean had not yet seen what was at the bottom of the well, then there was still time to do something about this mess. The window of opportunity was still wedged open just enough to scramble inside.

  He puffed away quietly in the dim room and knew he made a big mistake by not acting sooner.

  Chris was frail, but his mind was still sharp as ever. All he needed was an action plan. He knew he could do it again if necessary, and right now it seemed very necessary. When and how evaded him for the moment, but he knew the answer would come to him. He had to act quickly.

  CHAPTER 59 Day Thirteen - Wed 12:20 PM

  Dean pulled up to the modern, glass block of four-story condominiums and spotted Jet's pickup out front. The condos were easy to find just behind the Bistro on the south end of downtown. Each new condo unit was comprised of two stories of floor to ceiling glass covering the front and rear exposures. Jet's unit was located on the upper two floors of the four-story structure.

  As he stepped out from his cruiser, he looked up into the cloudless sky above. The sun blasted heat down at him. As promised, today was going to be another scorcher. Sweat beaded on his brow as he hopped up the steps and buzzed the unit number Millie copied down for him.

  After a few minutes of waiting with no response from Jet, he buzzed again. It appeared that Jet was either sleeping or not at home.

  Dean was miffed. He wanted his phone back.

  He buzzed a third time and waited. No answer.

  He stepped back from the doorway, wiped the sweat from his brow, and looked up to the windows high above. He couldn't even bang on a window to rouse Jet.

  "Shit," Dean uttered. He strolled over to Jet's pickup and peered inside. There appeared to be nothing out of the ordinary; a newspaper, a pair of sunglasses, phone charger, pens, note pad, and, sitting on the passenger seat, his cell phone.

  "Oh sure." He tried the handle, but it was locked. He jumped back in his patrol car and called Millie on the radio.

  "Have you heard from Jet?" He was frustrated.

  "Not yet, Dean."

  He looked back up at the condominium.

  "He's not answering the buzzer, and his truck is parked outside. My cell phone is sitting on the seat."

  "Maybe he's just resting. Trying to sleep off whatever bug he's got."

  "Yeah, maybe," Dean replied, but something just didn't feel right. "Can you call him for me? I’d at least like to grab my phone while I’m here."

  "Sure, Dean. Just hold on a sec."

  Dean waited for Millie and stared up at the building. If Jet's truck was here then where was Jet? It didn't make any sense. He stepped out of his vehicle, took another look inside Jet's truck, and studied the items again. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The newspaper was a week old.

  Jet was an early riser. He always picked up the paper each morning, popped into Tim Horton’s, and read through most of the paper while downing one or two coffee’s with a muffin or breakfast sandwich. There was nothing strange about the paper on the seat except that it was a week old. Dean assumed Jet hadn’t gone anywhere in his truck since last Friday. He stared down at the note pad and could see there was something scribbled across the page.

  The radio on his shoulder crackled. It was Millie.

  "There's no answer, Dean."

  "Ayuh. Thanks Millie. I'll be heading back your way in a few."

  "Right boss. See you soon."

  Dean moved around the pickup where he could get a better look at the note pad.

  CHAPTER 60 Day Thirteen - Wed 1:55 PM

  "You already took your pills," Chris said sternly.

  "I did not. Don't you think I'd remember if I took them? Now give them to me. I'm not feeling well. I need them."

  Chris shook his head at her. He was close to crossing the line between being forceful and being mean, and he wished she could stop fretting and believe him.

&
nbsp; "Look," he said. He was frustrated and glanced up at the clock on the kitchen wall. "It's nearly two o'clock. I gave them to you at breakfast."

  "Why would I be feeling this way if you gave them to me already? I'm dizzy. I need my pills."

  "I always give them to you at breakfast. Always." He grabbed the note pad by the sink. He opened it up, pushed it across to Anita, and pointed at the page with today's date. "See. Right here," he said. He pointed to the last line on the page. "That's today's date and I marked that I gave you your pills. 9:48 it says."

  She shook her head. "You probably wrote that first and then forgot to give them to me."

  "Christ, Anita! I gave you the Goddamned pills! It's your dementia again!"

  She frowned, rubbed one arm up the sleeve of the other, and shouted back at him. "Don't shout at me, Chris! Now give me my pills! My chest is starting to hurt now too!"

  "You're not dizzy, Goddamn it! You just think you are because you can't remember things." He wanted to shake her.

  "I am, Chris! I really am!" She put her hand across her chest as if the pain was increasing.

  "And you're not in pain!" he shouted. He wondered if she really was hurting. He looked back at the page where he wrote the time. A flash of doubt crossed his mind, but he was so sure he gave her the pills.

  "Oh, Chris!" She wailed. "I think I need to go to the hospital. My chest..."

  He shuffled forward, threw his wrinkled arms around her, and gave her a soft squeeze.

  "It's okay," he whispered into her ear and attempted to rock her. "It's going to be okay."

  Anita struggled under his embrace. He let her go. She pushed his hands away and at grabbed her chest. "It hurts, Chris. It really does hurt. Right here in my chest. I need the doctor."

  Chris was beside himself. He was so sure this was just the dementia talking and there was really nothing wrong with her. She was simply stressing herself into a frenzy just like she did so many times before. It had been nearly three weeks since her last episode. He wasn’t about to take any chances. He picked up the phone.

  "I'm calling the ambulance."

  "Hurry, please," she replied with short breathes. "My chest hurts."

  He helped Anita lay down onto the sofa. Her breathing remained short and wheezy. It pained him to see her in such distress. It was only minutes before he heard the wail of the ambulance siren in the distance.

  CHAPTER 61 Day Thirteen - Wed 3:05 PM

  Dean wiped his brow as he sat at his desk going over numerous notes.

  "I take it the H-VAC guys haven’t showed up again today to take care of this damned air conditioning? It's bloody hot in here."

  Millie was busy fanning herself with yesterday's edition of the Bluffington Times.

  "I called them again this morning. We're supposed to be on their list for today."

  "On their list for today?" Dean uttered. He looked up at the clock. "The day is just about over."

  Millie shrugged. "I don’t know what else to tell you, Dean" she said.

  He pulled out the folder he'd started weeks ago on Vincent Pattison's episode down in the well. There really wasn't much left in the folder other than some observations he made when he found Vincent on the side of the road and the trip he and Jet made out to the well. He flipped through the few items he posted.

  Why did he even keep this file open anymore? He could find nothing of substance in any of his notes. It was only the collapsed area in the wall that tickled his curiosity originally. He thought he'd seen something poking out of the dirt that warranted a further look. He thought it was probably nothing at the time and was sure the photos would take care of that for him.

  Presently his thoughts were more focused around Jet, and he wasn't sure if he should even bother with the Bumstead well anymore. Maybe it was time to let this one go.

  "Hey, Millie?” he asked. “Have you entered everything in for the file on Vincent Pattison? From that well?"

  Millie stopped fanning herself and looked at him.

  "I haven't entered anything about the well. I only opened up the call from Billy Huckleberry and that one's been closed already. There's no formal investigation file opened about what happened down in that well if that's what you're asking. Did you want me start one?"

  "No, no," Dean chuckled. "I don't think we need to do that. I think I'm about done chasing this one," he replied. "I sure would have liked to have seen those pictures though."

  "Pictures?" Millie asked.

  "The ones on my phone. Jet still has it sitting on the seat of his pickup."

  Millie laughed. "Maybe he's still seeing that ghost today. That's what's making him so sick. It is sticking it to him right deep into his bones."

  Her words sent an icy chill up his spine. It was one of the very first words Vincent uttered when he was first found by Billy Huckleberry. He now knew why he couldn't remember. It was never spoken to him by Vincent. It was Billy Huckleberry who first heard the disturbing word and repeated it to Dean over the phone.

  "Bones," he whispered to himself. Suddenly this file wasn't so dead.

  Dean closed the folder, grabbed fresh batteries from the stock room and reloaded his flashlight. "Millie, I'll be up at the Bumstead place if anybody's looking for me. I have just one last thing to check on. And keep trying to get a hold of Jet. Today makes two days he hasn’t called in. I'll have to make a move if you can't reach him by the end of the day.”

  CHAPTER 62 Day Thirteen - Wed 4:05 PM

  Vincent surrendered a lot more of his idle time than he wanted to thinking about his mother since speaking with his Grams yesterday. She was correct in suggesting his mother was at the root of his current discomfort. There was no denying it. The issue consumed him. He would have to deal with this problem soon or it was going to stay with him all year.

  Anna had echoed Gram’s sentiments when he told her of their conversation, and it challenged him. Was he really being overly obstinate about his mother? Really?

  But his Grams was right in her sense about the way he was feeling since he had returned from the well, and it made him miss his Grams even more.

  Vincent picked up the phone and dialled his grandparents number, but unlike the last time when he wanted to speak to his Gramps, he wanted to talk to his Grams this time. There was more to be discussed concerning his mother.

  He was unsure of what he would say to her as he listened to the phone ring in his ear. He wanted to understand his Grams. Why was she was so forgiving to his mother? Maybe both his Grams and Anna were right after all ,and he really should just shut up, listen to his mother, be politely civil, and even spend some one-on-one time with her. The problem was, he didn’t know if he could muster the strength to speak a single word to her without prejudice.

  The phone continued to ring. Vincent’s heart fell when the call went to voice mail. Vincent decided not to leave a message and hung up. He would try again later.

  He stared out the small window of his room and across the campus. He dialled Anna. He’d go see her tonight. Being with her always made him feel better.

  CHAPTER 63 Day Thirteen - Wed 5:55 PM

  Hours after Anita's latest panic attack, Chris was settled back at home with Anita. It was another false alarm, as he expected. Dr. Hamil was the attending physician when they arrived, and he assured Chris that this was all a part of her progressing dementia. With all that happened to Vincent recently, and his departure to University, it was reasonable to expect that her stress level would increase.

  "Sometimes this kind of sudden separation and stress can trigger these types of panic attacks." Dr. Hamil said to him. “These episodes are certainly not to be ignored, but they can easily be mistaken for more serious medical conditions."

  Chris knew it was more than Vincent leaving that was causing her the elevated stress.

  "I'm fine Chris. I really am," Anita said calmly.

  "I just get worried every time, that's all."

  She sipped at her tea. "I don't even remember it really. Was it
as bad as the last time?"

  Chris nodded. "You seemed to be in a lot of pain."

  She tapped him on the leg with one of her fingers. "If it's the stress like Dr. Hamil told you it was, then you and I both know what's causing this. You need to take care of this thing… soon."

  "I know," Chris grunted. He knew she was right.

  He patted her hand and looked up at the clock. It was already after six in the evening.

  "Would you be okay if I left you for a few hours alone tonight?"

  "What? Now?”

  He nodded and cleared his throat. "I think I have a way to make this all go away.”

  “What about dinner?”

  “I’ll grab something while I’m out,” he replied.

  She furled her brow at him. She was not happy about this at all.

  "I can do this. I may be an old fart, and I’m not as fast and strong as I once was, but I can still take care of things that need to be taken care of," he said.

  "What are you going to do?" she asked sternly.

  "I am just going to take care of it. My way. But first I'm going out for a walk along the river."

  "The river?" She looked scared.

  "I need a walk by the river before I get started."

  "You just be careful, Chris."

  He nodded at her. "I'm always careful.

  CHAPTER 64 Day Thirteen - Wed 6:59 PM

  A warm breeze wafted slowly across the Bumstead property and moved the tall, yellowing grasses about in rhythmic waves at Dean’s feet. The evening sun was suspended just high enough above the treetops to bathe the area in its soft orange glow. The warmth of the receding sun's rays gently touched his cheeks. He almost sensed that it hung there purposefully tonight, unmoving; as if it was going to wait patiently for him to finish whatever it was he came to do before it began its descent down behind the trees.