Corell took a cleansing breath, struggling to quell his own frustration. “I think I know what you are trying to say. Let me answer the question this way…
“Whenever I want to use the power of the ring to perform some kind of ‘magic’—let’s call it that—I picture it happening in my mind. I believe it will happen; I see it happen; therefore, it happens! It’s simple. That’s why I said it comes from within you. That is how it was explained to me. My father described it to me exactly the same way. It isn’t hard. The power is within you; it is already there. You just need to learn how to draw it out. Do you understand?”
“I guess so,” Valerie nodded enthusiastically, but nothing about it felt exciting. She was faking it because she didn’t feel like she would ever be able to do such a thing as manipulate time. Hiding the truth about how she truly felt didn’t sit well with her, either. Resentment built for being put in the position to have to lie about it.
Valerie felt a twinge of guilt rush through her. She respected Corell, admired the man, considered him a friend, a mentor, so she considered lying to him as her failure to perform as expected. She had lied, so she had no one to blame but herself. But that didn’t change the fact that she was tired of hearing about it and even more tired of thinking about it. She wanted to take Orson, go home, and be relieved of the whole thing once and for all. Reseating herself, she pretended to listen placidly and began planning her escape.
________________________
That evening, Corell built a fire then served pizza and salad in the living room. When he offered Valerie a beer, she gladly accepted and was thankful for it. She loved pizza and beer, feeling like it was the perfect combination of food and drink. Plus, the alcohol helped her unwind after a long day listening to Corell’s tedious lectures.
He promised the following day would be bowling ball and arrow day and that it would be fun. He would show her how to shoot arrows without a bow and chuck bowling balls without touching them. Although it sounded like fun, Valerie’s heart just wasn’t in it. Her thoughts were of home, her folks, and being with her friends again. She also longed to have her phone back.
Both were tired, so they ate together on the sofa, only speaking occasionally. Valerie was relieved Corell seemed to want to separate leisure time from lecturing; she had had enough of that. While flipping through old National Geographics from the 1960s, she continued considering asking him to take her home tomorrow. Old magazines would usually interest her, but she was just too dispirited to care about much of anything that evening.
Valerie decided to wait until the morning to ask for Corell to take her home. She knew it would upset him, expecting a confrontation, which would lead to yet another lecture. She wasn’t looking forward to the drama, which was another good reason to put it off. There was no sense in upsetting Corell right before bedtime, so she said good night and went to her room, leaving him alone on the couch.
That night Valerie slept, but fitfully; her mind refused to switch off. And when her thoughts slowed down enough to doze, her mind was filled with flashes of dreams past. But it wasn’t a repeat of the same old nightmares. These were more like shards of those old nightmares. It was as if they had been pulled from her head, thrown on the floor, stomped into a million pieces, and the fragments shoved back in. Somehow, she knew those bad dreams were gone for good, never to return. She had seen the last of them, but forgetting them entirely was impossible. She tried to restart the amazing dream she had last night but was disappointed because she was unable to do anything more than remembering it.
Chapter 13
Arlene Dunne. October 1947.
In the weeks following Stone’s attack, Arlene planned her revenge in earnest. Obsessed with vengeance, she thought of little else. Just one thing would make things right again. Payback.
Arlene knew what Stone intended to do. He had
made that clear enough when he told her he planned to take her ring and then kill her nice and slow. When he followed that with a laugh, she saw the glint in his eyes and knew he meant every word. He would enjoy every second of it, she thought. That’s what really galled her. However, Arlene wasn’t about to allow him to get away with coming into her house the way he did. She would make sure he paid for that with his life.
Hatred combined with steadfast resolve smoldered within her like white-hot coals. I’ll get my revenge if it takes a hundred years, she thought. Then she would have his ring rather than the other way around. The more she thought about what it would feel like to have two rings, the more she desired Stone’s ring. That’s why he came for her, wasn’t it?
Stone wanted her ring because he craved the warmth. The power was good, but the warmth was even better. No doubt he liked it, too. She understood well enough how those whispers warmed the soul, the irresistible craving that came from the thought of bringing two rings together. If one was good, two rings just had to be better—right? The intoxicating sensation Arlene experienced when she pleased her ring that’s what it was all about. Too much of that was just enough.
Before she knew it, unrelenting greed to obtain a second ring had taken hold of Arlene. Adding Stone’s ring to her hand had become an obsession so fast she never saw it coming. Unknowingly, the egotistical desire for more power had overtaken her desire for revenge without even realizing it. Now greed had her in a death-grip, clouding her thinking, distorting her priorities.
Arlene began planning by making personal security a priority. She became ever more observant of her surroundings, always vigilant of any sign of threat. Aware that predictability encouraged ambushes, she took a leave of absence from the University. Traveling to and from work five days a week was unavoidably predictable—and dangerous. So she stayed in as much as possible.
When she did leave the house, every move she made was carefully planned, meticulously thought out in advance to avoid opportunities for entrapment. Varying her routes and modes of transportation made her movement impossible to predict. Sometimes she drove her own car or called a cab, alternating that by riding with a friend or neighbor. Knowing safety came in numbers, she avoided being alone and kept to public places.
As soon as Stone is healthy enough, he will strike again , she thought. His style is unmistakable, like a leopard that attacks only when the prey least expects it. I can count on that, she reasoned. He proved that when he snuck into the house and bushwacked me. But I won’t allow that to happen twice. That inherent predictability will be his downfall. This time around, I will be on the offensive. I will be the hunter rather than the hunted. Round two with Stone is inevitable, but the knockout blow will come the moment the bell rings!
Arlene expected to be watched and followed. Stone would be watching, waiting, and seeking patterns in her movements. He would be looking for suitable places to set her up for a surprise attack. But two could play that game. All she had to do was turn that tactic around on him by setting a trap for him.
It wasn’t long before she had a sound basis for her own bushwack. The idea was to draw him out of the shadows where she would have the advantage. But first, the battleground would have to be established. Once she had chosen a suitable site, all she had to do was make that location part of her routine then the trap would be set. The big fish would bite so hard on the bait he would swallow it whole, never noticing the hook until it was too late and he had already lost.
________________________ Although the sky was clear and the day warmer than expected, Morgan Beal noticed the sun’s lower angle in the sky. By his reckoning, it was a reliable sign Summer was over, and Autumn had arrived in Southern California. The leaves had already turned their usual mixture of brown, yellow, and orange, but few had fallen. He expected that to change significantly and soon. The first rainstorm of the season would strip the trees bare in a matter of days.
It had been a busy Summer for his one-man remodeling company. Morgan had worked ten-to-twelve hours a day since the first of May, so he was looking forward to the rainy season when work would slow down, and
he could take it easy for a while. Light construction and remodeling was hard but satisfying work. His reward was seeing a job well done and money in the bank.
From the time he worked his first job as a teenager, Morgan saved ten percent of his earnings. He wasn’t cheap but never wasted money on things he considered to be frivolities. He made sure he would get by in retirement but was by no means a rich man.
Morgan Beal liked what he did for a living and preferred being his own boss. Accustomed to working hard, he was healthy; his body was tanned and lean. But at fifty-six, muscle aches, pains, and stiffness had become his daily reality.
Morgan was getting older and saw the end of the road approaching in the distance. He knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up the pace forever. Recently he had begun to think of what there would be for him when he retired. One day in the not-too-distant future, the one-man show at Beal Construction and Remodeling would close because the boss would fail to come to work anymore.
A few days after the work on Arlene Dunne’s house was completed, she called him back to build a fence and dog house in the backyard. Arlene explained she was concerned about her security and that a dog would make her feel safe. She wanted a police dog trained to defend its owner, she said. Beal understood her desire for safety but felt that buying a police dog was a bit over the top. Plus, corralling a big dog like that behind a fence seemed unfair to the animal.
Arlene explained she had gone to the Glendale Police Department for information about where she could buy a trained security dog. The receptionist recommended an academy in Pomona that sold trained police dogs. The academy informed her that owning a working dog was much more involved than merely bringing home an animal. They warned the animal could be dangerous under certain circumstances if not properly handled. Accordingly, the academy would require her to take owner training classes before she would be allowed to take delivery. So three times a week for two weeks, Arlene dutifully took people training courses at the academy.
Morgan had the dog house and fence completed the day Arlene came home with her trained police dog. Since he was already in the yard when she released the big male Shepherd, he bonded with it immediately. Morgan sat with the big dog talking gently and scratching him behind its ears for an hour. By then, it was well into the evening, so Arlene invited Morgan to have a sandwich with her on the patio.
Morgan smiled broadly, accepting the invitation, pleased they were getting along together. He liked Arlene and was correct in assuming the invitation was a sign that she liked him. He worried that their apparent age difference might be a roadblock to any lasting relationship. While Arlene and Morgan talked, ate, and got to know one another, the big dog laid under the table, resting on Morgan’s feet the entire time. Morgan never mentioned it to his host because it seemed to him the dog had unintentionally bonded more with him than it had with her.
The big police dog was magnificent, but at seventy pounds, Arlene decided he was just too large to have in the house. Morgan understood but didn’t like it. Having grown up on a farm where dogs had plenty of room to run, he felt sorry for his new friend. Seeing the Shepherd cooped up in the backyard bothered him, so when he was in the area, he made an effort to stop by to visit the dog—and Arlene.
However, two weeks later, Arlene had still had not named the animal, which to him seemed like an unforgivable sin. Morgan stuck to calling him Buddy during Arlene’s period of indecision.
Eager to see the dog named, Morgan began offering name suggestions. The Shepherd had been a working police dog, so he suggested naming the dog Sarge, but Arlene rejected that recommendation outright.
On a whim, Morgan suggested naming the dog Police, thinking it would be funny to stand on the porch yelling Police! when calling him. They laughed at that. It was funny, but when she explained that it would drive her nosy next-door neighbor Mrs. Alice Devlin mad, it seemed like something she just had to do. Hitting on a sure-fire way to aggravate the tedious busy-body next door had suddenly become a must-do.
But then Arlene realized that repeatedly hollering Police! out the back door might cause someone in the neighborhood actually to call the police. If that was to happen and the police department responded to the call, she was pretty sure they wouldn’t be happy about it. The idea was fun but Arlene decided that it would be going too far with a joke.
Yet a chord had been struck. The name’s absurdity wouldn’t allow it to be easily forgotten. Then Morgan suggested naming the dog, Dang it! They both thought that was hilarious. Arlene agreed to give the name a try for a few days to see if she could make it work. Morgan couldn’t wait to stand on her porch, hollering DANG IT! repeatedly to call the dog. Surely it would drive Mrs. Alice Devlin bananas, making it a worthy endeavor.
On his next visit, Morgan learned Arlene had tried calling the dog Dang It a few times but decided it was just too silly to take seriously. A more traditional name was needed, so she had settled on naming the dog King. That seemed alright to Morgan, but he was disappointed. King wouldn’t be nearly as much fun as Dang It! But it was her dog, so King would have to do.
However, it wasn’t long before King got bored and started digging. Once the big fella started digging, it quickly became an obsession. In a day Arlene’s pristine backyard was transformed into a moonscape. Within a couple of days, the once-immaculate landscaping was a total loss. Much to the dismay of Mrs. Alice Devlin, that is when Arlene found a good reason to forget all about calling the dog King. Along with an occasional expletive, her dog’s name was now officially Dang It! Henceforth this was to be the big dog’s designation, and Morgan couldn’t be happier.
And so it went; Arlene, Morgan, and Dang It! became an item. Although Morgan and Dang It! were welcome additions to Arlene’s inner circle, she wasn’t about to allow those budding relationships to distract her from her favorite obsession—getting even with Stone. As intended, her new dog alarm improved security, made her feel safer and was a good companion. Plus, it didn’t hurt to have an able-bodied man like Morgan around the place.
________________________ Arlene had secrets to protect, which meant she couldn’t let Morgan get too close. She had to keep him at arm’s length, at least until she had relieved herself from the threat posed by Stone. To accomplish that, she needed to focus on the task at hand, setting a trap for her not-so-favorite Ring Bearer.
Then it occurred to her that Morgan just might be what she needed to help her set the trap. Morgan was not involved, he was innocent, so she felt compelled to protect him from harm. She considered any direct participation involving him to be out of the question; however, she saw no harm in putting him to use as part of the setup.
Reasoning that if she were to do the unthinkable by setting a pattern of meeting Morgan regularly, the trap would be set. Meeting for a late dinner on a particular day of the week seemed perfect for what she had in mind. A late dinner date would provide the cover of darkness, and at a specific time and day would provide the pattern she needed to draw Stone out of the shadows. All she had to do was figure out how to surprise him before she was expected to be there. And she knew just the place, which was just a ten-minute walk from home.
O’Brien’s Diner, a twenty-four-hour café, had decent food and was less than fifteen minutes away on foot. Morgan was a simple man, so she doubted he would object to O’Brien’s diner-style fare. Along the way, a highway underpass with thick concrete piers would provide excellent cover for a man to hide. At night, the area would be dark and free of pedestrians. Arlene guessed that Stone would be unable to resist trying to catch her in the darkness of the underpass.
Arlene scouted the area diligently. If the attacker expected her to approach from the direction of her home, which was east, that would leave the other direction, west, unobserved and undefended. If she snuck up on Stone from his blindside, she could make mincemeat out of him before he knew what hit him. It was the perfect plan. She could put the hit on Stone without getting dirty or missing her dinner date.
Arlene set t
he plan in motion with a phone call to Morgan, then by walking to O’Brien’s on the same day and time for two weeks in a row. Anyone watching for repetition in her movements would have no trouble recognizing the pattern. If all other movements were random and this was the one thing regularly scheduled, how could Stone resist?
However, one nagging problem remained unsolved. How would she know if Stone was there or not? She needed to know if Stone was there before entering into the underpass’s darkness for the plan to work. If she could find a way to know that she could go around the block and attack Stone from the West.
But how could she spy on the underpass and be seen walking there at the same time? Since she couldn’t be in two places at once, Arlene saw no other solution to the problem other than bringing someone in to spy on the underpass for her. But who? And how would they communicate? More importantly, how would she prevent that spy from witnessing what the police would surely identify as a murder? This issue proved to be a puzzle without a workable solution.
When the answer dawned on her, Arlene laughed at herself for missing such an obvious solution. It was right in front of her nose the whole time! Who did she know that loved to spy on people? There could be only one nominee for the role: one Mrs. Alice Devlin! The nosy, holier-than-thou next-door neighbor was incapable of minding her own business. However, those faults made her the perfect candidate. It was time to put Alice to work doing what she did best—being nosy and spying. All Arlene had to do was mention that she’d seen the man that blew the back of her house off hanging around that underpass, and Mrs. Devlin would be on it like a hog on slop.
Arlene spent a day working on her story, making sure there were no holes in it. Alice was a pest, but she wasn’t stupid. The story had to be plausible for the plan to work. Since there is no substitute for the truth, Arlene settled on a relatively close version of what actually happened.
The Rings of Hesaurun Page 34