Pedestals of Ash (12 page)

The first thing he noticed about the home was the smell.
It reminded him of the odor of the nursing home where his own Aunt Edna stayed before she passed. This place was ripe with whatever caused that particular aroma. Pete repressed the urge to storm the place and raise all the windows simply to invite in the fresh air. He poked
around the living room and was surprised to see stacks and stacks of newspapers and magazines. The floor was littered with old, yellowed
copies of The Alpha Tribune as well as an ample assortment of
magazines covering everything from
fly-fishing
to ga
rdening. Some of the stacks reached
almost to the ceiling. Pete had seen this sort of thing before. His years of expe
rience and training as a cop sent his senses
on full alert – Ben was not mentally stable.

Pete didn’t know what the real medical term was for this condition. The average person re
ferred to it as “being a pack rat
.” Hoarding by itself was not a sure sign of danger – hoarding and
losing touch with the real world and
using a firearm was cause for concern.

About then, Ben appeared from the kitchen and caught Pete staring at the mess in the living room. Pete braced for the worst, but Mr. Parker merely shrugged his shoulders and said, “I’ve been meaning to go through and clean out some of that stuff. Never seems to be enough time. Come on in
,
Pete. There’s room to sit in the kitchen.”

Pete didn’t want to go into the kitchen, but again his training kicked in. It was always best not to insult or agitate someone who was unstable. Calm, regular tones should be used
,
and the best wa
y to handle a person on edge is
humor. “Keep them laughing,” had been the advice of one instructor, “Humor doesn’t stop at the boundary of sanity or self-control.”

Pete couldn’t think of anything funny to say a
t the moment, but did comment on
the stacks of paper. “Any of that you don’t want Ben, just let me know. I could use the kindling and would be glad to take it off your hands.”

Pete passed through the threshold in
to the kitchen. This room lo
oked similar to the living
room;
its countertops piled high with
all manner of literature
and
sprinkled with piles of old mail.
He followed the slight path that wound between the stacks of newspapers to the small galley.
Pete
was
surprised
to find that t
he sink was perfectly clean, probably more so tha
n
his own at
the moment. The second wonder
was the dining table where Ben stood, pointing to a chair for his guest. The table was one of the most beautiful he had ever seen. Ornately carved, with detailed inlays on the surface, Pete couldn’t help but stare. Ben noticed his gaze, and
inquired
, “Do you like my table
,
Pete? I made it for my wife years ago. She
passed away in ‘98…or was it ‘99?
Anyway, I worked on it in the shop for weeks. I used 13 different types of wood in all.”

There was a small family room of
f
the kitchen
,
and Pete could see various carvings and other
handmade
pieces scattered around the room. “Was that what you did
,
Ben – make furniture?”

The older man shook his head, “Oh my heavens
,
no. It was a hobby. I worked for the Union Pacific Railroad for 31 years before I retired.”

Pete didn’t take the indicated chair, but glanced back at the kitchen. Something else
had caught his eye. There
,
beside the faucet
,
sat three prescription medicine bottles. The caps were off and they all appeared to be empty. “Ben, have you been to see the doc? We have a pretty good one in town now
,
ya know.”

The question seemed to aggra
vate Mr. Parker. Pete noticed the older fellow
came up on the balls of his feet and rocked back and forth a few times before he answered. “Hell no, I ain’t been to see no sawbones. I feel fine. I’ve been out of my pills
for a bit, but I’m doing okay.
I’ve
been waiting for that damn mail
man to deliver my social security and pension checks. I’m so broke, they shut down my telephone
and electric
. There’s no way I ca
n come up with enough money to
call my
grandson to drive me into
Alpha
and get those prescriptions filled
.”

Pete walked over and picked up one of the bottles, and caught himself before he whistled out loud. While he couldn’t pronounce the name on the bottle, he knew enough to recognize it was a
psych
drug. The other two bottles were labeled with similar medications
, and the dosages seemed
quite large.

Over the next
1
5
minutes, Pete sat and talked with Mr. Parker. The conversation revealed enough information for Pete to realize what was going on. Ben Parker had lost his only son and wife in the same car accident. A drunk driver had killed his family as they were returning from visiting relatives back east. The experience had cau
sed something to snap inside. Pete
had been on maintenance doses of some pretty strong antidepressants ever since.

There was
no way to know if Ben Parker were
a time bomb or would live out the rest of his life
as a slightly eccentric, benign fellow.
While the gentleman sitting across from him was both rational and entertaining at the moment, all of that could change in a heartbeat.

Pete needed to get back to the bar. He looked Mr. Parker in the eye and said, “Ben, I heard some shooting going on
down here this morning. I
’ve
been told
it was you. Do me a favor
,
my friend
,
and leave that shotgun right where it is by the front door. If someone comes onto your land, then you have e
very right to defend yourself. But i
f you shoot one of these neighborhood kids by accident, their families will hang you from that tree out front
,
and nothing will stop them.”

“I was just scaring off some dogs
,
Pete. I’m afraid they are after my
laying
hens.
Until I
get that check in the mail
, their eggs are the only food
I have
,
and I can’t afford to lose one of them.”

Pete nodded his understanding. “I didn’t think a good man like you would do something stupid
,
Ben. But y
ou are concerning your neighbors – tone it down it bit
,
would you
,
sir?”

Ben agreed. On his way out the door, Pete spied Parker’s supply of shotgun shells. An open box sat on a small table next to the front door. He suddenly had an idea
,
and when his host wasn’t looking
,
he reached down and pi
cked up
a
loose shell and dropped
it
in his pocket. The idea was a little crazy, but it might defuse a bad situation.

A few m
inutes later, he strode
out
of the Parker house and up the street toward the still gathered neighbors. Pete
announced
, “I talked to him
,
and he agreed to leave everyone alone if they didn’t come onto his place. I have to warn you folks, he is very old
,
and I think a little dementia has set in. I would give him a wide berth if I were you.”

The man who had accused Mr. Parker of aiming at his kids stepped forward, clearly upset. “And what are we supposed to do
,
Pete? Wait until he
shoots one of our children or our wives?”

Pete snapped back, “What do you want to do? Lynch him? We don’t have a jail, mental health system or even a doctor who can help him. Should I just go back and shoot him? Is that what you all want?”

The man didn’t back down, “Well, if I see him even looking at my kids, I’m going to put his ass six feet under.”

Pete took a step toward the man and poked him in the chest with his finger. “You shoot someone around here that doesn’t deserve it
,
and you’ll answer to me.” Pete then looked around the crowd and made sure everyone understood the dilemma. “Society has gone to hell
,
p
eople. I have no idea how folks
used to handle these situations, but right now
,
I don’t have any answer to this. Protect your families, but don’t….I repeat DON’T go over the line.” Pet
e spread his arms wide and turned
in a slow circular motion
,
addressing no one and everyone, “If you harm that man without cause, you’re no better than he is.”

Pete left without another word and headed back toward Main. He knew deep down inside the situation was a powder keg, but didn’t have a solution. He could only hope everyone kept their cool.

It had been so long since she had driven any sort of car, the sensation felt a little odd at first. It wasn’t long before the feeling of motion and the freedom of the open road returned, and she actually managed a smile for the first time in days.

Deacon Diana Brown was experiencing her joy ride in an older pickup truck while driving down the smooth, deserted Texas highway. She had left her besieged compound i
n Alpha only fifteen minutes before
. Her first few moments of freedom were complicated by the need for careful navigation around the debris littering her thoroughfare, but nothing was in front of her now except the wide, open road.

It had been years since she had driven to Meraton. Her c
areer in the Navy had kep
t her on the ocean and far away
from the deserts of Texas. A
fter her return, there just hadn’t been time. She had
visited the famous gardens at t
he Manor many times before
,
and
she
had envisioned a quiet,
peaceful getaway with Atlas
some Saturday.
Now, her son was dead, and this
visit was anything but a relaxing day trip.

As she drove along, Diana tried to visualize how the meeting would take place. The stranger
called
Bishop had proven to be both honest and capable. Diana tried to recall every little tidbit of information learned during their brief time together. In the
lunchroom
, Bishop had told her that he was married
,
and his wife was with child. She had also heard him mention something about “the market” to David, the younger man who accompanied him. That was really about all she knew.

She continued to mull over
the last statement he had made before leaving the church grounds – “Reach out to the people of Meraton.” His eyes had been so serious and full of good intent. She, at the time, couldn’t imagine any scenario that would require her to contact the neighboring town. Now, all that had changed.

As the desert miles passed by, the wind blowin
g into the open window felt liberating
. It had been months si
nce she had been away from the c
hurch’s compound, and the open spaces and bright sunshine felt good despite the lack of air conditioning in the old truck. Diana didn’t even
notice,
as she hadn’t felt cooled air since the collapse.
Her mind was occupied, rehearsing the speech she planned for Bishop.
He understood their dilemma
,
and she was, after all, simply followin
g his advice. The retired navy c
aptain sighed and decided to be honest with herself. She wasn’t normally the one asking for help – she was the one who provided assistance
,
and she simply wasn’t comfortable asking anyone for anything.