Saving Medesha

by DK Land

  “Everybody needs to have a hobby,” grinned Harold.

  Just then, the body of Julius Benson sat up on the gurney. He looked at both men that were standing in front of him. Then he looked down at the body of Preston Vandervork slumped over in the wheel chair.

  “Oh, my God!” he exclaimed. “You did it! You actually did it. You saved my life.”

  “Uh, Jefferson,” said Harold. “You wanna get the guy a mirror?”

  “I'd be happy to.” He picked up a small mirror from the cart next to the gurney. “Here ya go, Preston. This'll give you a whole new . . . or at least a whole different outlook on life.”

  With the mirror held in front of him, Preston was able to look directly into the rheumy eyes and wrinkled, liver spotted face of Julius Benson. “No!” he yelled. “No! This can't be! You were supposed to get me the pump jockey. I can't live in this old worn out body. You can't do this to me.”

  “But, Preston,” said Harold calmly. “You got exactly what you wanted and you got exactly what you deserved.”

  He held his withered hands up in front of him. “This isn't what I wanted at all. I said I wanted a healthy body.”

  Harold pointed at him. “You said you wanted what everybody else had. The opportunity to live to be ninety years old. Well, congratulations, Preston Vandervork. Next year you will be ninety years old. You should be thanking us for not leaving you to die in that sickly, crippled body.”

  With his face in his hands, he cried, “No, no. I'll find a way to change it. I won't live like this.”

  “That's where you're wrong. Like we agreed before the transfer, you will no longer be Preston Vandervork. You will be the person whose body you are in. From this point forward you are Julius Benson. Every time you look in a mirror, you will see the reflection of the man you murdered.” He pointed to the equipment in the room. “All of this will be destroyed. All these Life Force vessels. All of your EEG machines. Even that gurney you're sitting on. Heck, you won't even have a single computer to play solitaire on.”

  He dropped his hands from his face, “Why are you doing this?”

  “My God,” said Harold. “You callous, uncaring, wicked human being. You really don't know why, do you? I suppose when an evil act is performed by an evil person, that person looks upon that act as an act of righteousness. The name, Preston Vandervork disgusts me to the point of making me want to puke. And now that he is dead, for the sake of the community, I have to try to perpetuate the idea that he died as a savior and hero to the town of Medesha. I imagine our illustrious mayor will even propose that the city council should spend thousands of dollars to have some damn pigeon turd collecting statue erected in honor of the beloved Preston.”

  He scanned the entire room. “What can we use to start smashing this equipment?”

  As he reached down on the side of the gurney, Jefferson said, “Here, if we pull the side rails off, they should make pretty good clubs.”

  “Huh,” said Harold. “Good idea. Move your legs, old man. I need this for my remodeling project.”

  They each removed a rail from the gurney and started swinging at any piece of equipment that might have had even a remote involvement with the atrocious legacy that Preston Vandervork had created. Even a coffee pot, a paper towel dispenser and a counter top refrigerator were not spared. Only one small chair had escaped the onslaught and Harold placed it in the middle of the room.

  “Here, Julius,” he said. “I'm sure that an old man like yourself probably could use a chair to sit on so you can get some rest. Jefferson and I are going to be leaving you now. It hasn't been a pleasant visit, but it has definitely been eventful.”

  Numbed with shock from all that had just occurred, the old man hobbled over to the chair and dutifully sat down without a word.

  As they walked toward the stairwell, Harold said, “Julius. I will be returning later this afternoon with the county coroner to collect the bodies that are upstairs, and to also make an official investigation into just what occurred here today. At that time I will determine if you should be arrested as the perpetrator of these crimes or if you are just a surviving witness.”

  When they turned and walked up the steps, their final view of the basement was one of complete destruction. Broken and smashed bits and pieces of unidentifiable trash with one lone old man sitting on a chair in the center of the conglomeration sobbing silently with his face buried in his hands.

  They arrived at the top of the basement steps and walked silently along the side of the house and out across the main yard at the front of the house toward the pathway to the boat dock. Harold was deep in thought about the strange events of the worst day of his career as sheriff when he heard a weak voice from behind. “Sheriff Wheaton? Sheriff Wheaton?”

  They both stopped and turned to see Julius Benson looking toward them as he leaned weakly against the corner of the house. He motioned with his hand as he repeated, “Sheriff Wheaton?”

  As they began to retrace their steps across the front lawn, Harold said, “Now what does that darn fool want?”

  “No!” said Julius. He held up his hand. “No. Just Sheriff Wheaton. Only Sheriff Wheaton.”

  “Oh for heaven's sake,” said Harold. “Okay, Jefferson. You stay here and I'll go see what he wants.”

  As he arrived at the corner of the house, he said, “What is it Julius? What other terrible things do you have to tell me?”

  The old man held on to the corner of the house with one hand and simply said, “Maureen.”

  Harold's eyes narrowed. “Maureen? You mean my wife, Maureen?”

  “Yes. Your wife, Maureen.”

  Suddenly, the old man went into spasms of coughing and wheezing. He held his hand against his chest until it subsided. “Julius had emphysema. Hard to breathe . . . think it's getting better now.”

  Harold ignored the old man's discomfort. “What about my wife, Maureen?” he demanded.

  The old man just stared. He said nothing.

  Harold repeated, “What about my wife, Maureen?”

  “Loved her,” said Julius. “I loved her deeply.” He looked at his wrinkled hands and continued, “I loved her when I was young and my name was Preston Vandervork.”

  “Why are you telling me this now? She loved me and I loved her, but none of that could prevent what happened to her. The poor girl died a painful death.”

  “It broke my heart when I couldn't save her,” said Julius. “I loved her so much but I couldn't save her. Her body had been too badly crushed by that drunken fisherman. Oh, I knew that she could never love me. She had a beautiful little daughter and was married to her high school sweetheart. But I loved her anyway, and I couldn't save her.”

  As he became more and more uneasy with the confessions of love for his poor dead wife, Harold said, “Alright, Julius! This is getting creepy beyond the extreme.”

  Julius held up a finger to silence him. “I loved Maureen, but I couldn't save her crushed body. However, . . . I DID save her soul!”

  Astonished, Harold said, “You did WHAT?”

  A hint of a smile began to creep across the old man's face. “You heard correctly, Wheaton. I saved her soul. Before she died, I was able to transfer her Life Force into a vessel. She was my very first successful transfer. She was the other Life Force that I released today.”

  Harold was incensed. He grabbed the old man by his loose fitting shirt and drew back his fist. “How could you have done such a terrible thing? You held the soul of that poor dear woman prisoner in one of your damn tin cans for all these many years just because you loved her? Did you never think of what was right for her? God! You are truly the most disgusting person I have ever met in my life.”

  He dropped his fist to his side and let go of Julius's shirt and wiped his hand on his pant leg as if to wipe off any putrefaction that he might have encountered by merely touching the old man.

  “Everything has changed,” said Julius. “All my plans for all these years have been destroyed in one day. I couldn't
cure my illness. Because of you, I wasn't allowed to transfer my Life Force into a viable, healthy body.” He looked down at his withered body. “I had decided long ago to never reveal whose Life Force was in that vessel, but when you forced me into this horrible thing, I made the decision to tell only you what really happened to your lovely wife. I hope this news is something that will haunt you for the rest of your life. I think this is the least I can do for what you have done to me on this, the last day of my life.”

  “I gave you what you said you wanted, you fool,” said Harold. “You wanted to live to be ninety years old. That's what you got. I should have had Jefferson put you in one of those damn vessels and leave you there like you did to my wife.”

  “I wanted to live for ninety years,” said Julius. “I didn't want to take a short cut.”

  “Well, that's what you got damn it! Now live with it,” replied Harold. Then without another word, or a second glance, he turned around and walked toward Jefferson, who was still waiting near the entrance to the pathway to the boat dock.

  As he came closer, Jefferson said, “What happened back there Harold? It looked like you were going to deck the old guy.”

  “I was gonna deck him,” said Harold. “But when I grabbed him I felt so repulsed that I thought I was gonna puke.”

  “What did he say to you? It looked like it was pretty bad.”

  Harold stopped walking and looked at Jefferson. “It was pretty bad. In fact it was terrible. He said that the other Life Force that he released down there in the basement was . . .”

  “Your wife, Maureen. Shauni's mother. Am I right?”

  Harold was shocked. “Well . . . yes, that's exactly what he said. How did you know?”

  “While I was standing here watching the two of you talking, I tried to think of what could make you, a person that abhors violence, so upset that you'd want to punch an old man in the face. Then I thought of the other Life Force that he released and kinda put two and two together.”

  “But what he did was so repulsive that . . .”

  Jefferson interrupted again, “Harold, let me say something.”

  “Sure, go ahead.”

  “I honestly believe that Preston did not release the Life Force of your wife down there. I think that that was the only way that he felt he could still injure you after the trick we pulled on him.”

  “But he made a very convincing argument about . . .”

  “Just a minute. Let me tell you something. All those years ago, around the time of the death of Shauni's mother, I knew a few of the local kids. I didn't know too many because my parents kept shipping me off to private school. However, I became friends with a few of the locals and the rumors about some of the things that Preston Vandervork did were pretty wild.”

  “After today, I'm not the least bit surprised,” said Harold.

  “What I'm thinking about in particular is a story I heard about Preston's German Shepherd named Kuhn. A couple of the guys I knew lived over by the factory and they used to see Kuhn out running around behind the factory every now and then. They'd play with the dog and they began to notice that the poor thing showed up with new scars and fresh stitches every time they saw him.”

  “So the guy was experimenting on his own pet dog?”

  “It was too obvious to miss. The poor dog even had a patch of skin about six inches square on his side where it looked like the skin had been removed and then sutured back onto the wound, only in reverse. You know how an animal's fur lays naturally from nose to tail so if you stroke it going forward the hair stands up? Well, that's what happened with that one square patch. The fur went forward, rather than back.”

  “Okay, that's just creepy,” said Harold. “But what's that got to do with what he just told me about Maureen?”

  “He said that that vessel he released was his very first success with transferring a Life Force,” said Jefferson. It's very obvious that he experimented on animals. I'd be willing to bet that his first transfer was on an animal, probably the poor, ill-fated Kuhn.”

  “Huh,” replied Harold. “I bet you're right. He was just trying to hurt me because we gave him an old piece of shoe leather when he was demanding steak.”

  Then he reached over and put his hand on Jefferson's shoulder. “Thanks, Jeffer. I really needed that . . . but let's not mention this to Shauni. I wouldn't want something like that eating on her mind.”

  “I agree completely,” replied Jefferson. “I wouldn't do anything to cause that wonderful person any pain.”

  “The more I know you, Jeffer, the more I believe that. My little girl has found herself a good man. Let's head on back to the boats. I'm sure Larry and Ollie are really wondering what the heck is going on.”

  As they started to walk down the path, there was a sudden, enormous explosion from behind. The concussion from the shock wave hit them with such force that it threw both of them to the ground and caused an instant ringing in their ears. Shattered fragments of wood and shards of broken and pulverized glass flew all around them, followed by an instant of intense heat and the sound of roaring, crackling flames.

  Then there was silence.

  Jefferson grabbed a low hanging branch of a wild plum tree and pulled himself to a standing position. Harold had pushed himself up onto his hands and knees when Jefferson reached down, grabbed Harold under his right arm and helped him to his feet.

  “Are you alright?” asked Jefferson.

  “Yeah, I think so,” said Harold as he felt his arms and legs for any possible injuries. “You?”

  As he lifted his left forearm up to show Harold, he said, “I think all I got was this gouge on my arm, and I don't know if that was from the explosion or from when I hit those stickers on that plum tree.”

  They turned around to survey the damage. “What the hell happened here?” said Harold. “Damn! Look at that! The big house and the little cabin are both gone. There's nothing . . . I mean NOTHING left! It's all just a bunch of sticks and smoldering ruins.”

  From behind came the sound of Ollie and Larry Walsh on a dead run. Oh man!” said Ollie, as he tried to catch his breath. “Are you guys okay?” He grabbed both men at the same time and hugged them. “We were so afraid that we'd lost both of you.”

  Smiling, Larry came up from behind and patted them both on the back. “Thank God that you're not hurt. That was a helluva explosion. What happened?”

  As Harold tried to peel himself from Ollie's grasp, he said, “We're not sure. This is exactly where we were standing when it happened.” He pointed toward the clearing. “From the looks of things, every gas valve in both structures must have been opened and then a match must have been lit.”

  Ollie started walking toward the ruins. “Wow! Look at the destruction. It looks like a bomb's been dropped right in the middle of the island.”

  “Ollie, stop!” demanded Harold. “Don't go any closer. I'm sure there's nails and broken glass all over the place. There might be some areas where there is fire under the rubble also.”

  “Well, what are we gonna do then?” said Ollie. “Where's Preston and Julius? Did they make it outta there?”

  “Okay fellas,” said Harold. “Listen to me. I'm sure the sound of that explosion is gonna bring tons of people running up here very shortly. We need to get things straight here. I want everybody's word. You can never . . . I repeat, you can never discuss what took place here on the island today. In fact, we can never even discuss it amongst ourselves. This is for the benefit of the whole town of Medesha. Now listen closely. We all came over here to the island just to find out if Preston Vandervork, Julius Benson, Ingrid Benson, Judy Gladden or Lester Rawlings had any information about how Tandy Williams got put into that hot tub box that ended up in the lake. We talked to all of them and were satisfied that they knew nothing about it. They were all alive when we left them and headed toward the boat dock. That's when the explosion happened. Terrible accident. That's all it was. Got it? Just a really terrible accident.”

  They all nodde
d. Ollie said, “Sure, Harold. In fact, that's exactly the way I prefer to remember it. The way it is, this isn't a very good day for our little town.”

  From behind came a familiar and unwelcome voice. “Harold! Sheriff Harold Wheaton. What in the name of . . . Holy Crap!”

  Harold turned around and pasted a welcoming smile on his face. “Well, if it isn't our illustrious Mayor. What are you doing here, Paul? Aren't you supposed to be in my jail cell?”

  “Oh pooh,” said the mayor. “When we heard the explosion, I talked Irene into letting me out so I could come over here and investigate what took place.” Then he pointed a finger at Harold. “When this is all over, you and I are going to have a long talk about just who you can arrest around here.”

  Harold pointed a finger right back at the mayor. “Paul, my authority allows me . . . no, commands me to arrest anybody that is breaking the law. Yesterday, that was you. Now, five people have died here today, Paul. Let's keep our minds on higher priorities.”

  “Five people!” said Paul. “Oh my God! Was Preston Vandervork one of them?”

  “Yes, Paul. Preston died in the explosion with four other people. Wouldn't you like to hear who the other four people were?”

  The mayor didn't hear Harold's question. He had already turned around and started walking back down the path to the boat dock.

  Harold shook his head and mumbled to himself, “It's gotta be a thyroid condition.”

  Larry Walsh asked, “What do we do now, Harold?”

  “I don't really think there's anything we can do now,” he replied. “It's still a holiday weekend, so we'll probably have to wait a few days until the state fire inspector can get over here. Until he gets here, I guess we just go about our normal business as if nothing has happened. Let's just head back to shore. If any out of towners ask you what happened over here, just tell em that there was a gas explosion and we're not sure if anyone was hurt yet”

  Chapter 17

  It had been almost two weeks since the horrific explosion on Vander Island. The state fire inspector had arrived and done an exhaustive search of the site. He had only been able to find a few small unidentifiable fragments of human remains, but his most remarkable finding was as Harold had suspected. All gas valves in both buildings had been opened. His unspecific conclusion was murder, suicide or arson. The case was not closed, but the inspector felt that further evidence would not be forthcoming and had released the site to allow for cleanup.