Evolving Crane

by Dave Welch

  “Hey, man! I love you and so does God! And there’s nothing you can do about it!” He shouted in joyous laughter.

  I exited the cathedral without responding. I felt defeated as I approached my car.

  “Don’t you stand me up, Derrick!” he shouted from the inside of the cathedral.

  I sighed aggressively because I had thirty days to shake the bushes.

  Thirty days...

  Later that evening, I turned down my street wildly and in somewhat of an annoyed rage. I noticed the front porch lights were burning bright on every front porch. I soon settled myself.

  I remembered that my neighbors all promised to keep their lights on in remembrance of Bookie and for other security reasons. Besides, they had families and kids too. But not me. Not anymore.

  I drove even slower as I approached my driveway. The reminder of that front lawn disaster was cerebrally eradicating, but I couldn’t shake my urge. The only thing that provided sanity was the random flowers that my neighbors would leave in the center of my yard. Tonight, I didn’t see any flowers. Instead, I saw Tom sitting on my front porch. He lit up like a stick of dynamite as I pulled into my driveway.

  He stood to his feet as I opened my car door.

  “What’s up, champ?” he asked.

  I sighed. He had been waiting for me to get home.

  “What’s up Tommy G?” I quietly sneered.

  He hugged me as I approached my front door.

  “My wife and I wanted you to have this,” he inserted as he reached into his coat pocket. He pulled out a bottle of Chardonnay with a red ribbon tied about the neck.

  “It’s not much, but we…we wanted you to know that we still care,” he admitted.

  He held the bottle out to me, and I looked at it for a while. My eyes started watering as I slowly took the bottle from his hand.

  “Thanks, Tom,” I said softly.

  “Have you heard anything from the authorities? I know it’s been about sixty years now.” He joked with a smirk. “Surely they’ve made some type of connection.”

  Now I hadn’t gone to the police because I knew what to expect. I honestly think Tom may have cared more than they did.

  “I know this has got to be a lot, Derrick. I have kids too. I couldn’t imagine losing one of them. I can’t figure out why something like this could happen to you. You didn’t do anything.” He expressed while putting his hands in his pockets.

  Poor Tom. He didn't know…

  He was still calling me Derrick Lawson.

  I felt the urge to tell him the truth. Yet, the truth was maintained by my indisputable conditions.

  I looked up from the cool bottle of wine and across the street to see his wife and daughter standing in the doorway.

  Something just wasn't right about Tom’s wife and her solid, unyielding face. She stood with her arms folded while her daughter peeked from behind her leg.

  “The police haven’t found anything,” I cried.

  “What! That’s ridiculous. Look Derrick, I know you’re tired man, but if you need anything, you let me know. I mean it, Derrick. My family and I are here for you.” He declared.

  I nodded my head as he took a few steps back to clear the path to my front door.

  “Thanks, Tommy G. You’re a true friend,” I quickly inserted. His face said it all as he looked to the ground.

  He turned away and started walking back over to his house. “You take care of yourself, Derrick,” he said. “And don’t do anything stupid!”

  I was out of tears then. After that, I couldn’t cry anymore.

  I opened my door and took one step into my house.

  The house was filthy.

  The walls were filled with holes where I had taken out my frustration on the sheetrock and cheap paint. My hand started to shake as I looked down at the freezing cold bottle of wine.

  Suddenly, reality struck a hard chord.

  Then, I lost it.

  I gripped the bottle of wine so hard that it exploded in my hands.

  I screamed uncontrollably as I went into a murderous fit.

  I kicked over the couch.

  I ran into the kitchen and ripped the refrigerator out of the wall. I picked it up clean over my head and tossed it into the living room.

  Boom!

  The refrigerator dented into the floor.

  The little food I had strayed abroad.

  I launched myself back into the kitchen.

  I yanked the microwave out and tossed it directly through the window.

  Bissssh!

  The sound was so loud it startled me.

  I ran back into the living room and snatched the flat-screen TV from the wall.

  The cord lashed through the air as I head-butted the television, shattering the screen.

  The gashes bled from my forehead; I tossed the TV into the kitchen.

  It crashed into pieces, bouncing off the oven and then to the ground.

  “Derrick!” Tom screamed.

  I whirled around to see him lunging over the porch rail.

  I didn’t even shut my front door prior to this destructive- outrage.

  “Derrick!” He yelled again.

  As he entered, I launched the coffee table across the room.

  It crashed into the wall, shattering the nearby mirror as Tom tackled me to the floor. He held me tight around the arms in his attempt to settle the mindless beast within me. We squabbled violently on the disgusting floor. I was crying and screaming at the same time.

  My tear ducts ran dry as a desert.

  I scrambled about the glass-filled mess as the smell of expensive wine and lint filled my nostrils. My forehead bled, staining my carpet as we rolled chaotically about, and Tom didn’t mind. He insisted on holding me still, until I emotionally dismantled.

  “It’s okay champ… it’s okay,” he whispered.

  Tom sat me up and rocked me to and fro while still mumbling words of encouragement.

  “I gotcha homie,” he huffed in my ear. “I gotcha…”

  We slowed to a tranquil still.

  Tom finally released me, and I laid gracefully to the floor.

  He crawled over to the front door and sat against the wall. And there he stayed, watching over me like a guardian as I cried myself to sleep.

  I still had thirty days, though.

  Thirty days…

  November 2nd

  I arrived at the cathedral, 6:00 am on the dot. It was still dark outside.

  Father Harmon was parked directly in front of the stairway. His car gurgled, with a thin smoke emitting from those snarling exhaust pipes.

  I parked about two car lengths behind him, having a discussion with myself.

  A minute later, Quincy rolled down his window. He blew the horn, beckoning for me to come over.

  I was still discussing something with myself, but my ideas were too vague for recollection. I thought like a zombie, but I moved like an untamed animal. My vengeance would last even after my passing. I was determined and for that matter only.

  I walked without restraint over to Father Harmon’s car.

  He unlocked the passenger door.

  I opened it and sat down in the cozy vehicle.

  As I shut the door, he dropped a small paper bag into my lap and pointed to the cup holder next to me. I looked to see a cup with steam charging out of the lid.

  “That’s your hot chocolate,” he advised.

  I opened the small bag to see two fresh glazed doughnuts.

  “This your idea of breakfast?” I retorted with critical taste.

  “Hey man, these are the best doughnuts in America. Take a bite and see.”

  I expected Father Harmon to be in civilian clothing, but he was still wearing that priest stuff. He was in the same black robe with that same white-collar thing.

  “Buckle up, sir. I used to be a stunt driver in my past life,” he included as he shifted the gear of his ‘79 Chevy Impala.

  I guess he figured I was impressed. I’ve been in a lot o
f high-speed chases. His driving wasn’t a drop in the sea.

  “Thanks, Father,” I finally noted.

  “Call me Quincy,” he replied as he floored the gas pedal.

  I pinned to the seat as the car took off like a bullet.

  “I’m glad you decided to come. Cause this guy ain’t normal, I tell you that much,” said Quincy as he whipped his car around the streets of New York like a madman.

  I took out a doughnut, and I bit into it.

  It was good. Incredibly good! Or maybe I was just hungry.

  “They’re expecting us, Derrick. They got doctors or a scientist or something out here to evaluate his speed for you,” he explained.

  I was peering into the streets and the many alleyways as we sped through town. I wasn’t concerned with what he had to say. But I didn’t want to be rude, so I narrowed my comments down to: yeah, uh-huh, really, no way, for real, and man that’s crazy.

  I gave him just enough to pass the time.

  “How was your night? You sleep good?” asked Quincy.

  Damn! This question required more words than I had prepared to use.

  I thought about just saying, ‘man that’s crazy’, but that would’ve been stupid. Then it hit me. I could just eliminate the words, man that’s. And then, one word could say it all.

  “Crazy,” I grimly interjected.

  “That bad huh?” he asked. “Okay, it’s clear that you’re not in the best of moods. How about I tell you a story.”

  I didn’t say a word. I just sat there savoring my last doughnut.

  To make a long story short, Father Quincy proceeded to tell me about his son, who met some crazy girl. The girl tried to kill him because he couldn’t stop other girls from speaking to him when they were out in public. Unfortunately, this story was way drawn out. So, I just stuck to the basics and used my original choice of responses.

  The story ended tragically. His son was stabbed three or four times before he found out he was dealing with a nut case. He made it out alive. The story did make the trip a bit shorter. It ended in concert with the ride, and I found that to be quite exhilarating.

  I was still a bit disgusted with my outrage from last night. First, I didn’t have a TV to watch anymore. Secondly, I didn’t see anything on the way up here that even remotely resembled my daughter’s killer. Nevertheless, I was getting something from this day other than a couple of doughnuts and some wild story. These thoughts dispersed when we approached the speed demon’s mansion.

  Granite Springs, New York

  The gates to the domain were incredibly massive. A large lion head was embroidered into the center of the oversized gate.

  We stopped momentarily at the call box.

  “Quincy!” shouted a voice from the call box.

  “Hey brother! We’re here,” answered Father Quincy.

  The large gates opened slowly.

  We entered cautiously into this stunning, magnificent spread. The exuberant and carefully maintained lawn zapped my troubled mind. The escape was priceless. His yard was full of exotic plants coupled with hundreds of different flowers.

  It took us nearly five minutes just to approach the front porch of the mansion. Glaring upon the edifice, my eyes wandered up to the view and my jaw dropped to the floor. The entire house was made of marble, and a host of massive pillars supported the frontal structure. The sight pulled a genuine response out of me. A response I didn’t intend on using throughout this escapade.

  “WWwwhhhhhooooaaaa…” I ogled in amazement.

  “Oh yeah. They laid man,” whispered Quincy. “I’m telling you, Derrick, this guy ain’t normal. I think he gets faster as he runs, like a machine or something.”

  I really didn’t care to see the Speedster’s talent. But I was overly impressed with the house, though.

  Could there be some way for this guy to help me find the murderer? Because I needed more. I decided that I was going to pull the Speedster off to the side and interrogate him.

  I had a picture of the assailant sketched, courtesy of our trusty NYPD. It stays tucked away in my coat pocket just in case if I needed to investigate my leads. But, first, I had to make something happen, one way or the other.

  I only had twenty-nine days left.

  We approached the oversized double doors to the mansion. I was amazed. This had nearly soothed my lust for blood, but not exactly.

  “This cat aint normal. I’m telling you now. Sometimes I don’t know if he’s coming or going,” expressed Quincy.

  “Just promise me you’ll be nice. Please?”

  He looked at me as we stood in front of the doors. Then, he held his hand out for us to shake in agreement. But before I could respond, the door swung wide open.

  Quincy dropped his hand as the Speedster revealed himself.

  “AAAahhhh! Quincy! My main man!” Hollered the Speedster.

  “Yes, sir!” whaled Quincy.

  They embraced each other with a strong manly hug, slapping each other on the back. Then, they stepped away in laughter.

  I stood confused by how these two embraced.

  How close were these cats? Are they in cahoots?

  Could Quincy be the killer?

  “And who is this?” The Speedster queried.

  “Oh, forgive me,” Quincy said. “This is Derrick Lawson. You know, the guy I’ve been telling you about.”

  “Uh huh… You came to see how fast I am?” Gloated the Speedster.

  I hesitated in response, for I was still focusing on his face.

  He was shorter than the assailant, and his hair was low and full of waves. He was younger, a lot younger; and his skin was much darker. His nose and eyes were way off from my artistic drawing. Not to mention, this kid wouldn’t swat a fly, let alone kill an innocent five-year-old girl. It was apparent that this guy was not a murderer. He was all about football.

  “Egh, you wanna see how fast I am?” He asked again.

  I stood silently, reaching into my coat pocket to retrieve the drawing of my daughter’s killer.

  “Ah, who cares, huh? The fact is, I’ve blown every recruiter’s mind. Wacky ain’t it? Don’t wait homie! Weight broke down the wagon. I’m ’bout to throw your mind in the air and run and catch it.” Howled the speed demon.

  I looked at Quincy like, what the hell? But he just kept standing next to me, nodding his head, and smiling. He kept looking directly at the Speedster. He didn’t look at me, not even once.

  I then glanced over to the speed demon, reaching slowly into my coat to retrieve the artistic rendering.

  As I began to lift the image from my pocket, the Earth stood still.

  The planet and the sun lost their logic of gravitation.

  I felt the ground moving and shaking all around me. Yet, there was no earthquake.

  My heart and eyes stopped as well as my recovery of the murderers’ sketch.

  I couldn’t turn my head or blink my eyes.

  I couldn’t believe this sight. I was spellbound.

  I heard angels singing and bells playing a song with such radical lyrics. It carried over the speed demon and Farther Harmon’s conversation. I wasn’t sure if they were still talking.

  I felt as if I was being tricked by my devised intentions. Cause when I left the house this morning, I had evil on my mind. And now… Now I have Father Quincy to blame for this misinterpreted and yet sweet breeze of skullduggery.

  My stomach churned, and my heart splashed into my tummy. I peered deep into the Speedster’s mansion as the image clarified.

  I saw an elegant swan. A woman. A beyond angelic masterpiece with a gorgeous grade of natural dark brown hair. It was a curly afro, surrounded in clean moisture. Her skin and complexion were without stain or blemish. It was the color of a bright sun tapping the noon sky. I swear music filled my ears.

  As the lioness approached, I gathered a bigger digest of aesthetic pleasure.

  Her nose was small, and her jawline and chin curved with a silky-smooth wave of sexy. Her ears and cheek
bones complimented her eyes, which were light gray with a hint of blue.

  Her colors were so natural, vivid, and beguiling. I could not escape such beauty. She was mixed with another race that I couldn’t identify. Yet race had no concern to her moment of majesty.

  She had a walk that could nullify a trillion dollars.

  Priceless.

  She wore a fitted, black sleeveless dress that stopped mid-thigh, almost right above her knees. The top of her dress had a small v-cut in the chest area, concealing a great bit of her cleavage.

  She was probably 5’5” or 5’6” with a small waist.

  Her curves were all strategically placed.

  I could tell she was very athletic. Her legs and calf muscles were clearly defined. She had on a pair of sheer black nylons and some 6-inch black stilettos. The front of her shoes came to a point. That meant she was classy and somewhat business savvy by my interpretation.

  I slowly put the image of my antagonist back into my coat pocket, for the goddess had reached the doorway.

  My thoughts and desires left me in a deep labyrinth.

  I prepared myself for the worst. I knew I was lusting for the Speedster’s wife. She was a must have. And she was ten times better than Canieya. She alone was everything that Canieya and I were not. And I considered Canieya to be a ten.

  But this woman, this queen, had no grading scale.

  The Speedster kissed the goddess on her forehead as she cautiously passed by.

  Hold up!

  Who kisses their wife on the forehead?

  “Take it, easy sis,” the Speedster encouraged with a gleam of jubilation.

  Wait a minute…

  Did he just say... Sis?

  Holy shit!

  It’s on.

  I froze, stiffer than a inanimate object as the goddess passed between us.

  “Excuse me,” she softly chimed as she glanced up to me.

  Her voice was so deliquescing and sweet. Her airy larynx could turn rocks into playdough. But her exit had not fully completed.

  I was hit again.

  A smell so beatifically luring and tropically searing, it could make a steak sweat. It was like the smell of a new car mixed with a luxurious female pheromone, so strong that she could affect a man’s behavior in the next state. And I sucked it all in as she passed. I didn’t want to forget this moment.