by James Ross
J Dub couldn’t see twenty feet in front of him. Is it the fog or is this some kind of crazy, awful dream I’m in? It doesn’t matter. Curt’s down; he’s laying there at his finish line—him and his finish line! Clouds choked the sky, bearing down on the fog and cutting visibility to zero. The eerie wail of a siren, heard in the distance only a heartbeat ago, was coming closer.
# # #
Opur’s Blade
James Ross
Copyright © 2013 by James Ross.
ISBN: Softcover 978-1-4797-8684-8
eBook 978-1-4797-8685-5
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was printed in the United states of America.
Rev. date: 06/24/2013
To order additional copies of this book, contact:
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter One
Rural Southern Illinois . . . May 1981
“Owen!” Eighteen-year-old Rayelene Whitesall yelled across the front seat to her high school boyfriend. “Keep your hands to yourself!”
“Come on, Babe. You know how much I want some of that,” the teenage boy said slurring his words. The yellow dress that Rayelene wore to junior/senior prom had been working on his imagination all night.
“You’re drunk!” Rayelene screamed.
“So what,” the nineteen-year-old said suggestively. “You knew that we’d end up this way.”
“And I’m gonna git there as quick as I can,” Rayelene said as she swatted his hand away from her breast. “In one piece, I hope.”
Their dating had developed into a predictable pattern. Owen would slam down beer after beer and Rayelene would drive him around town. The used, forest green Charger with its propped-up shocks was recognizable to many of the townspeople.
“Make it quick, Babe,” Owen said as he leaned over to place a slobbering kiss. A second later he eyed the cooler in the back seat and reached for another cold can of beer.
“Why don’t you stop for a while?” Rayelene urged as she made a left turn and headed toward their favorite parking spot. “Don’t ruin a fun night.”
“You know what the right amount of beer does for me.” Owen looked at her out of the side of his eye and grinned as if he had gotten away with a Brinks’ truck robbery. “These are goin’ down too smooth.”
Rayelene returned a glancing smile. They had been making love for the better part of the school year and she knew how Owen could touch all of her magic buttons. She had never experienced anything so thrilling in her life. “Make sure it’s the right amount.” She was quick to forgive knowing what was to be included in their night only a couple of turns and a few miles down the road. “But you really know how to piss me off.”
“What do you mean, Babe?” The teenager took a sip of beer, squeezed the can between his legs at the crotch and worked his arms out of his tuxedo jacket.
“It’s some of that stupid little shit that you do.”
Owen furrowed his brow. “What now?”
“Like when we got the car to leave the dance.”
“Huh?”
“What you did for that ‘val-lette’ guy. It’s the way you signed your name.”
“Yeah. Owen Purler. That’s my name.”
“But it’s the way you do it.”
“With a pen and paper,” Owen said, confused as to how it could be done any other way.
“But if you don’t quit signin’ your name like that, then all the people are going to think that . . .”
“Well how the hell else can I sign Owen Purler?”
“It’s just that big O with a line to the right.” Rayelene flicked on the bright lights as they headed farther out into the country.
“I’m in a hurry. It stands for Owen.” He felt frustrated. Rayelene always seemed to come out of the blue with the weirdest things and take him out of the mood.
“It makes it look like you’re nothin’ but a big zero minus.” Owen laughed out loud at the absurdity of the comment.
With one hand he raised the beer can to his lips and with the other he grabbed her hand off of the steering wheel and placed it on his crotch. “You know better than that.”
Rayelene parted her lips ever so slightly and gave him a sheepish grin. When she set the tip of her tongue just underneath her two front teeth and laid it on her lower lip it turned his sexual intentions up a few notches. “Of course I do, but if you ain’t careful all of the others will think that you don’t amount to nothin’.”
“Oh come on, Rayelene.”
She paused for a second to digest his annoyed look. “You know . . . zip.” A blank, beer-induced stare followed until Rayelene spit out, “Zilch.” Owen looked hurt, but she p
ersisted. “Nada.” For a small-town country girl she had learned her synonyms well.
Owen couldn’t do anything but wonder where she was coming from. “I dunno ’bout that.”
But the minute it was uttered, the damage had been done. A new nickname was born. They looked at each other. The sound of the last vowel froze time. “No, I kinda like it.”
“Don’t you dare call me that.”
Rayelene pulled the car to a stop down a gravel road next to an abandoned hunting cabin. It was the spot where she had lost her virginity several months before. She put the car into park and pulled his face toward hers. “Nada it is.” She closed her eyes and kissed him passionately.
Chapter Two
It was one of those warm, spring nights when the moon played hide-and-seek with the scattered clouds that sprinkled the darkened sky. The hunting cabin was owned by a friend of Owen’s dad. On a few occasions the teenager had joined them at the cabin during the early November deer hunting season. At other times of the year the location served as the perfect spot for the two lovebirds to park away from the eyes of prying teenagers and city cops.
“Go ahead and put it in!” Owen demanded. “You know how much I love it!”
“I can’t find it,” Rayelene said busily rummaging through the glove box looking for his favorite cassette tape.
Owen’s shirt and tie had found themselves wadded up on the front seat floor next to the jacket. “Come on, Babe. Git it in there.”
“Don’t spill your beer in the car!” Rayelene shouted as she noticed the tilting can. She pressed on both of her temples. “I’ve got a headache anyway.”
“No you don’t, Babe. Not tonight!” Nada belted down a gulp of beer. “You an’ I is gonna have a lot of fun.” He reached over and fondled her breasts.
“Nada!” Rayelene once again brushed his hand away. “Then we’re not gonna play it so loud!” She located the tape under a stack of receipts at the bottom of the glove compartment.
Nada grabbed the tape and placed it in the cassette player. With a devilish grin he leaned over and planted a meaningful peck on his lover’s lips. “You’re serious ’bout that, aren’t you?”
“I found it, didn’t I?”
“No, the nickname.”
“Nada?”
“Yeah. You bet yore ass I am.” She pulled away, furrowed her brow and pressed on her sinuses. “My head is killing me.”
Owen gazed at his girlfriend. Silver strands of light from the moon shone through the windshield and beamed off her silky smooth face. “Then I guess it’s okay for me to return the favor.”
“What favor?”
“The favor of giving me a nickname.” Nada was enamored with the physical beauty of his girlfriend’s face. He raised his beer can so that the moonlight glistened off the label. He wrinkled his nose as he peered at the label. “You know, you’re my pretty bitch, Rayelene. You’re my own PBR.”
Rayelene pushed herself away from Owen. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to be named after a can of beer.”
“You’re not. You’re my PBR.” He smiled at the workings of his sodden mind. “You know, my . . . pretty bitch Rayelene.” Nada raised the can to his lips and took a sip. “This stuff don’t mean a thing to me, PBR. You’re what I really want.” The rock and roll sounds of the 1970s blared through the speakers.
Rayelene dropped her head into the palms of her hands. “What am I gonna do with you?” She shook her head back and forth. “And why in the world do I like you so much, Nada?” Rayelene reached forward and adjusted the volume control button down. “You’re gonna be my worst nightmare before all of this is over.”
Owen pulled Rayelene closer to him. He brushed his hand gently across her face. Reaching behind her neck he pulled her head closer to his and placed his mouth on her moist lips. Feeling the craze of the moment she deepened the kiss. With slow and easy movements their tongues explored each other’s mouths. Rayelene stroked Owen’s hair and pulled him closer . . . their kisses full of passion.
The uncomfortable bucket seats made for an awkward modification. A few seconds later the pair was sprawled across the back seat. Lying flat on his back, Owen pulled his teenage lover on top of him and kissed her neck. Softly he slid his hand up and down the yellow prom dress. Raising the hem he rubbed his hand across her panties. Rayelene’s breathing intensified and her excitement ignited their desire.
Owen cupped her hips firmly and pressed her pelvis closer to his. Rayelene’s longing heightened as she felt his arousal. As their hearts beat faster and their breathing became more rapid Owen slipped his fingers under the elastic of Rayelene’s panties. She arched her back and raised herself slightly to accommodate him. He pulled her dress up and over her head, admiring her supple breasts. He cupped his hand over one, fondled the nipple and nibbled it gently.
He reveled in her scent, her taste and her soft moans of pleasure. With his free hand Nada unbuttoned his tuxedo trousers. He smoothly placed her hand on his throbbing nakedness. She responded and caressed him lovingly.
Wearing only panties now, Rayelene placed her hands on his chest and pushed her body into a sitting position. Straddling him, she felt what she hungered for. Owen’s shoulders were broad and his chest well developed. Despite the beer drinking, his abdominal muscles were ripped. Rayelene admired the lean body of her first and only lover. It was as much of a thrill tonight as the very first night that they had enjoyed sex.
Rayelene pulled Owen’s pants down to his ankles. Teasingly she slipped down her panties and lowered herself onto him. Their bodies moved in sync to the beating drums in “Magical Wand” from the greatest hits album of Pogo Stick and the Pots of Rainbow Gold.
Chapter Three
Thirteen Years Later . . . Spring 1995 Rural Southern Illinois
“Owen!”
Every time she shrieked at those levels the woman winced, creased her brow and with her thumb and forefinger pinched her sinuses at the upper part of her nose.
“Owen! Get home right now!” Strict orders were delivered out the breezeway’s screen door and broadcast across the street to her twelve-year-old son.
It was a Friday evening in early spring when the howling, southerly wind reminded Midwesterners what was coming around the corner. Gone would be the soggy ground and countless mud puddles caused by melting snow and seasonal rain. Those conditions would be replaced by bright yellow jonquils and the glorious, golden burst of forsythia.
Puffy white clouds tumbling through majestic blue sky filled the atmosphere like cottonwood spores drifting on a breezy day. The colder temperatures of winter gave way to longer days of sunshine and warmer readings on the thermometer. The chirping of the robins signaled that it was time to build a nest and warm the aqua-colored eggs of the upcoming offspring.
For Owen Purler, Jr. this time of year meant the school year was coming to a close. Books would be replaced with a bat, a ball and a glove, and soon he could ride his bicycle up and down the neighborhood streets. Or, for some added excitement, he could jump on his skateboard and navigate his way to and from the city park.
“I . . . . I . . . . I . . . . I’ll b . . . . b . . . . b . . . . be right there,” a voice stuttered from the city park pavilion across the street.
The young woman, maybe thirty, wore a matted aqua housecoat. On her feet were black flip-flops with a white fur ball atop the V that intersected her large toe and second appendage. Without make-up or adornment of any kind, the five-foot-six woman had a striking appearance. Her body was toned, her olive complexion appealing, and a cascading mane of light brown hair complemented her hazel eyes. “Yore dad’s due home sometime soon and I want you here when he drives up!”
The Purlers lived within shouting distance of the playground that the parks and recreation department had established on a low-lying tract of land that bordered a meandering creek. Not too far away was the town water tower that rose out of flat farm fields and soared above the corn stalks on the fertile ground of Illinois. Its bold black letters
served as reminder of the town’s name, and spray paint broadcast what senior class was up to playing pranks.
In the not-too-distant view was a public pavilion that had been erected on the edge of the playing fields. It sat on a concrete slab and sheltered eight picnic tables. Off to the side was a ground-level brick barbeque pit.
Four baseball diamonds occupied a field that was the main attraction in the park. A square snack bar building was in the middle of the complex. It was located so that the home plate area of each field backed to every side of the structure. Only one field was equipped with lights to handle night play. That diamond had a grass infield, sloped pitching mound and advertising billboards on the outfield wall. It seemed like every insurance outfit, beverage wholesaler, fast food joint, ice cream eatery and pizza delivery operation in town had their logo plastered on the plywood fence.
“One m . . . . m . . . . m . . . . more jump and I . . . . I . . . . I . . . . I’ll b . . . b . . . . b . . . . be there,” her son said as he sped his skateboard across the concrete floor of the pavilion—one foot on the board and one foot pushing off the cement.
“Put that thing away before you break your neck!”
The young boy jumped in the air, caught his toe on the bench of a picnic table and landed awkwardly. “Aargh,” he sighed as his chin scraped the wooden surface of the picnic table. A patch of skin, albeit thin, had been deposited on a wooden plank.
“That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” the lady yelled as she witnessed the tumble.
With his ego bruised, the lad fought back tears. He was too proud to show that the spill hurt him. Slowly he picked himself up, grabbed his skateboard and headed for home less than a block away. “Th . . . . th . . . . th . . . . the last one g . . . . g . . . . g . . . . got me, Mom,” he said as he approached the watchful eyes of his mother.