When His Dreams Take Flight

by Andy Holloman

  They turned just in time to see Nick diving at them. He wrapped his arms around both boys and all three of them rolled in the dirt, coming up covered in pine straw and dust.

  “What the hell, man? What are you doing?” said one of the boys.

  “We’re shutting you boys down, that’s what we’re doing,” said Gene, coming up on the scene, breathing hard. He kicked the guns back towards the duffel bag. “Nice tackle, Nick.” Nick stood up and brushed off his pants.

  “Get your asses up and get into the woods. Right now,” said Nick. They towered over the boys, who now seemed more like scared third graders than two killers bent on random violence at their middle school. The boys walked into the woods and Gene pointed to the ground. They sat. He flapped his hand towards a thick pine and they slid backwards until their backs rested against the tree. He dropped his bag beside them.

  “We weren’t going to do anything, really. We just wanted to scare everybody,” said one boy.

  “Shut the hell up, Stevie,” said the other.

  “I mean, sir, really. It was all Robbie’s idea. He wanted to kill people, not me.”

  Nick reached in his bag and pulled out a roll of duct tape. “Both of you just shut up. You make me sick. Hold out your hands.” They obeyed and Nick taped their hands together. “Gene, got the rope?”

  “Right here, my friend. You boys are going to pay for this plan of yours.” He wrapped their feet and then tied off the rope. He took another strand and wrapped it around their mid-section, securing both of them to the pine. “The local cops will be here in a few minutes. Until then, you dumbass kids will have some time to ponder what almost happened here.”

  “How, how did you know? Did Karl tell you?” asked Stevie.

  “Karl? You mean the kid you guys left back down the path?” asked Nick.

  “Karl is a pussy,” said Robbie.

  Gene smiled, “Karl didn’t tell us anything. When the cops get here, tell them that two concerned citizens just happened to show up and we stopped you. That’s all anyone needs to know.” He smiled at Nick. “You ready to get outta here, Mr. Concerned Citizen?”

  Nick wiped the sweat from his forehead. “Yeah, we need to go. Good job with the knots.”

  “Boy scout training pays off,” said Gene.

  March 27, 2013

  Arkansas Democrat-Gazette

  Mysterious Men Foil School Shooting

  Two days ago, three eighth graders at Tateworth Middle School in Batesboro were ready to carry out a plan that involved killing students and teachers at their school. Because police are hoping that the public can provide more details, they have released the names of the minors involved. The leader of this group, Robert Tilson, had dozens of pictures saved on his computer of Adam Lanza, Dillon Kleybold, Eric Harris, and Seung-Hui Cho.

  The other two boys that made up this dangerous trio, Karl Thompson and Steven Killington, helped Tilson construct a very sophisticated plan. At eleven-fifteen on March 25, Killington and Tilson stood in the woods, fifty yards from the outdoor lunch area at Tateworth. Thompson had stayed back, having changed his mind at the last moment. In a black duffel bag, carried by Tilson, were a fully loaded twelve gauge pump shotgun and a Ruger Blackhawk .357 handgun. The duffel bag also contained one additional box of ammunition for each weapon. Tilson had taken the guns from his father’s collection the day before. Both boys were experienced hunters whose fathers were gun enthusiasts.

  But before they could aim their weapons, two unknown men tackled the boys and put a stop to their plan. These heroes, who have only been identified by their first names, Nick and Gene, saved Tateworth Middle School from becoming synonymous with Columbine, Virginia Tech, and Sandy Hook.

  The younger of the two men, Nick, appeared to be in his mid-thirties, approximately six foot three inches and weighing two hundred pounds. Gene was approximately sixty-five years old, five foot ten inches, and two hundred and thirty pounds. All three boys gave the same descriptions of these heroes. Who they are and where they came from is still under investigation.

  Batesboro Police Chief Alan Williams said they currently have no leads on the identities of these two men. The police have no idea how the heroes knew when the school shooting was to take place. Chief Williams further stated, “Our hope is that these two heroes will come forward to receive the overwhelming gratitude of the people of Batesboro and the entire state of Arkansas. Because of their actions, we are not here today grieving the loss of innocent children or adults, as we have seen so frequently in other cities across America. Instead, we have been brought together to celebrate the heroic actions of two men who risked their lives to stop a massacre.”

  The Batesboro Police ask anyone that may have additional information regarding the alleged perpetrators of this crime or the men who prevented it, to please contact them. The phone number for their anonymous tip line can be found on their website at www.BatesboroAR-Police.ci

  XI - Stick

  Stick Laskin had been a Mt. Rutgers golden boy. As quarterback, he led the Thomas High Hornets football team to their first undefeated season ever in 1980. When the town held a parade to salute the team’s II-A State Championship win, Stick was the Man of Honor. He rode in the last car during the celebration parade held on a mild Saturday afternoon in early December.

  Of the several scholarship offers he received, he chose Wake Forest University in Winston-Salem. It was smaller than other colleges he had visited and he liked Wake Forest’s coach. He played very little his freshman year, which was not what he had been led to believe. He rarely studied and spent most nights out enjoying the nightlife. He barely passed his freshman year courses.

  His first ‘episode’ hit just a few weeks into his sophomore year and he dropped out. His alternating moodiness and high energy bursts now had a label: Bipolar Disorder. He tried medications, but they dulled his senses and so he never was consistent in their use, even though they did reduce his symptoms. He took a truck driving job for a concrete company in Mt. Rutgers and never returned to Wake Forest.

  Stick married the woman of his dreams, Joanne Kittrell, in 1988. Joanne had moved with her family to Mt. Rutgers after Stick’s glory years. The family ran a small landscaping business that provided a good living. Joanne had taken over the office duties after her mother passed away in 1987. She bought a home with Stick and Timmie arrived in 1995. Sixteen year-old Jocellynn Hughes began working for the Laskins every day after school, taking care of Timmie and helping out around the office. Joanne and Jocellynn grew very close.

  Stick’s episodes would flare up several times a year and Joanne was always at his side, consoling, calming, and sometimes threatening. It just depended on what type of episode she was dealing with. He tried medications again. These new and improved medicines were better than the ones he had taken in the past, but he still despised how they clouded his manic phases. Those phases were the best, the most productive, and creative. During them, he felt as though he could rule the world, with Joanne as his queen.

  But the crashes were worse if the manic phases weren’t controlled. Once, in 2001, he disappeared for three weeks. No calls, no contact of any kind. When he returned home, he told Joanne he had been so depressed that he had lived in his truck at a roadside stop, somewhere in South Carolina. He’d lost 20 pounds. He told her he’d felt so bad that he just couldn’t burden her and Timmie, that he had to stay away. She forgave him after a month and only after he went back on the medications. After the incident, with her stern reminders, he continued to take his pills.

  He became a solid citizen of Mt. Rutgers until things went south for their landscaping business and he was fired as a truck driver for assaulting his supervisor. He spent six months in jail and they lost the business and their home. When he was released from jail, Joanne and Timmie were living in a ramshackle rental home twenty miles north of Mt. Rutgers. Stick worked when he could find something and Joanne got a job as an office manager for an insurance agency in town. He found that he liked living in
the country and he and Timmie spent time together, hunting, fishing, and exploring.

  His venture into methamphetamine production began in early 2003. Like a lot of things, it started small. He sold a little to folks he knew in town. Then he started getting calls from other folks. The money was good, and it brought a sense of accomplishment. He had found something he was good at. Word spread and the business expanded. Joanne was opposed at first, but when he started bringing in so much cash that she could work less and then not at all, she had a change of heart. She took on the inside work of running their enterprise. He was the perfect outside man, shaking hands, making friends, and increasing sales. He was especially adept at protecting their market share. On one occasion, he even took it upon himself to eliminate a competitor in a neighboring county.

  At the same time that his new business was getting off the ground, Stick became fascinated with the fugitive Eric Rudolf. Rudolf was responsible for the bombings at the 1996 Atlanta Olympics, an Atlanta lesbian bar, and two abortion clinics. Rudolf had grown up in the North Carolina Mountains and was able to elude the FBI for five years by hiding out in the vast national forests around Murphy, NC. He was finally captured while fishing through a dumpster at four o’clock in the morning on May 31, 2003, outside a Murphy, NC department store. The mystique of Rudolf, the causes he believed in, and his survival skills, became an obsession for Stick. After four good years, the business came to an abrupt halt when their home was raided by the SBI.

  ***

  Mr. Eric Rudolf

  c/o ADMAX, USP

  Florence, CO

  May 15, 2012

  Dear Mr. Rudolf,

  I send you greetings from the Raleigh area and from one of your biggest fans. My name is Stick Laskin and I have to say that you are one incredible person. I am proud to say that I hail from the same state as you. I grew up near Mt. Rutgers, but currently I’m in prison at Central in Raleigh. If all goes well, I may be released in about a year.

  I must say how impressed I am that you were able to hide out from the FBI for all those years in the mountains. While I am not an outdoorsman as you are, I have taken it upon myself to become educated in the ways of the outdoors so that I can be prepared just as you were. Oh my, how those FBI boys must have cursed your name and beat their heads against the same trees that you watched them from. I cannot imagine the strength and courage it must have taken to survive the cold weather, the hunger, and the loneliness that you faced. You are a true hero in my eyes.

  I hope that his letter finds you in good spirits and you should know that your actions to stop those baby killers and lezzies have not gone unnoticed. I have many friends in my hometown and here at Central who admire you and support your work. Your good deeds will most certainly be rewarded in heaven.

  The sick filth of homosexuality must also be stopped. The gays are an abomination before God and their evil greatly burdens our civilization. It sickens me to see how their ways have poisoned society and caused the great decline that we see all around us. Especially in the filth and garbage that is sold by Hollywood and TV people and how they support the gay sins that we see on movie screens and in our homes.

  My purpose in writing to you is in the hope that we could establish a friendship and correspondence with each other. I hope that you will consider me one of your faithful followers, as well as a supporter of the wonderful people of the Army of God. Although my current circumstances restrict me in regards to travel, being locked up has allowed me to become talented in the use of the PC and the Internet, and thus the whole world is open to me. Whatever you or the AOG would require of me, I would be most pleased to provide assistance in spreading the news of your organization.

  I very much look forward to hearing from you and learning more about you and your continued efforts to make America a better place; a place that we can all be proud of again. Thank you for the children you have saved from the clutches of the evil abortionists and I hope that God the Almighty holds you in his hands and keeps you safe.

  Very Sincerely,

  Stick Laskin, Inmate #0037711

  Central Prison, NC Dept. of Corrections

  Raleigh, NC

  XII - March 27

  Indifference best described Timmie Laskin’s primary emotion regarding his father’s upcoming release from jail. Prison had mellowed his father and they had formed an almost normal father and son relationship, especially in the last year. Timmie had never been good at making friends and without any other adults in his life, his father had become someone he could confide in. But currently, Timmie had total control over his life. His grandmother never imposed any rules on him. He was certain that the same would not be the case once his father came home.

  He’d been driving down to chat with his dad at Central Prison in Raleigh once a month. His dad was always excited to see him. Timmie would catch him up on what was happening around town, school events, and how Granny was doing. Stick told him about his work at the prison and his plans for starting a trucking business when he got out. Of course he wanted his son to work with him. Good money, he’d say. Stick had gotten a two-year Associates Degree in Computer Software and he read constantly. The prison had a closely managed computer lab and Stick’s good behavior allowed him to use it and access the internet. He’d email Timmy links of websites about starting a business. Working with his Dad after high school was not at the top of Timmie’s priority list, but he saw no reason to bring that up. Not when things were going well between them. In prison, they made sure his dad took his medications. It kept him calm and logical. Timmie was not certain this pattern of behavior would continue once his father was released.

  ***

  Timmie walked into the visitor’s area and shook hands with his dad. They sat down at a card table. Stick had placed two cups of water on the table.

  “Hey buddy, so great to see you again,” said Stick.

  “Thanks, Dad. You get a haircut?”

  “Yep. Thanks for noticing. Oh shit, I sound like woman now. Next thing you know I’ll be talking about getting my nails done.” He feigned a punch to Timmie’s mid-section. “Made you flinch.”

  “Very funny, Dad,” Timmie smiled. “You also fake punch like a woman.”

  “Guess I need to work out a little more, huh?” He smiled and flexed his bicep.

  “Yeah, you could stand to be doing some lifting. Isn’t that what folks do all day in prison, anyway?”

  “Some do. Not me. I’ve been learning computers and writing letters and reading. Getting smarter every day. So tell me about my mom, how’s she been doing?”

  “About the same. Except that thing happened again last week.”

  Stick frowned, “She just wandered off again?”

  “Yep.”

  “So what happened?”

  “Same as last year. Came out of nowhere. She’s normal, going along fine, and then I find her out in the backyard one morning before school, buck naked. She’s totally out of it. Mumbling about why her garden is gone and how is she going to get any tomatoes. I get her back inside, help her get dressed, and fifteen minutes later, she’s back to normal. Doesn’t remember a thing.”

  “Damn. That’s terrible, son.”

  “Yeah, I’m worried about her.”

  “I’m worried about you.”

  “I’m okay.” He shook his head and looked down on at the floor. “I just say to myself, ‘Oh boy, Grandma’s naked in the backyard again’.” He looked up and smiled, “Sounds like the title to a bad country music song, huh?”

  Stick grimaced and shook his head. “Damn. No grandson should have to see that. And this is what, the third time?”

  “Yeah. It’s lucky she always goes in the backyard so nobody sees her.”

  “I’m just glad you’re there to help her. She’s lucky to have you.”

  “I guess so.”

  “You’re a good son to be looking after my mom.”

  “Well, I ain’t gonna be around forever.”

  “I know, I know. I
’ll take care of her when I get out of here.” Stick sat up and ran his fingers through his hair. “Which reminds me, did you get the book I wanted?”

  “Yeah. Got it approved it at the prison office, just like you said.” He reached into his coat pocket. “Here you go. A handbook on how to survive the end of the world. Still say it’s a wacked out idea.”

  “No, it ain’t. We gotta be ready. The world’s going to hell. You just don’t ever know when you and I are going to have to be ready to pull a ‘Rudolf’.”

  Timmie frowned and shook his head. “Oh no, here we go with Rudolf again. Have you been skipping your meds?”

  Stick tapped table in front of his son. “Eric Rudolf is a hero. Even the FBI couldn’t find him for five whole years. The guy’s amazing. And yes, I’m taking my meds just like always.”

  Timmie shook his head. “So why the hell do you and I need to pull a ‘Rudolf’?”

  “Let’s just say you and I always need to be ready to survive in the wild, just like Mr. Rudolf.”

  “So is this about getting back at Gene Smithson?”

  “I did not say that, son.”

  Timmie sat back in his seat and crossed his arms. “I hate the guy, too, Dad, for what he did. But you’d be a fool to do anything to him. Everyone would know who did it.” Timmie glanced at a couple talking near them. He leaned in closer. “Tell me the truth; are you really taking your meds?”