The Inner Struggle: Beginnings Series Book 7 (6 page)

“Why?” John asked.

“Because he’ll be filling in as head of mechanics while you’re filling in for Frank and I’m gone. He and Forrest will be alone. You’ll help him though, right?”

“Where are you going? We’re not making any runs.”

“John.” Henry laughed as if he thought John couldn’t possibly be serious. Surely he knew. “Ellen had the baby. I’m taking my three days Joe always gives for paternity leave.” Henry turned to Scott. “Isn’t that a cool thing, Scott? You know the United States was the only country that didn’t do that? Now Beginnings does. I think it’s great.”

John scoffed, “Henry, Joe doesn’t know you’re taking this time off, does he?”

“I assume he does,” Henry said.

“You’re assuming wrong. You don’t get the time off.”

“Yes I do. Ellen had the baby.”

“And Frank’s the father, Henry,” John told him roughly. “Not you. Frank was primary relationship when that child was conceived. You were secondary. Therefore, it’s Frank’s kid. Therefore, Frank gets the time off.” John shook his head as if Henry was stupid. “Plus, Henry, everyone around here knows, Frank doesn’t share. Frank was sharing time with his wife, not his wife’s bed. You broke the trust and then broke it again when you ran around telling people you married her. You’re a piece of work. One day you’ll realize that and stop looking at me all the time like the bad guy.” With another shake of his head John walked out.

Henry didn’t want to hear John’s words, but he did, not just through his ears, but through his body and soul. Even though they were painful, they held a lot of truth.

<><><><>

It was not something Dean wanted to hear when he returned to his house. Noise and an abundance of it was screaming at him before he even opened his front door. Little Brian scooted quickly by like a miniature Speed Racer in his walker, his arms waving in the air as he squealed his baby squeal. Alex and Joey dove from the back of the couch onto to Denny’s back. And Denny, he screamed as loudly as everyone. All were making noise but Billy. He sat on the couch, looking through a book, one finger closing off his ear. “God!” Dean exclaimed as he stepped over the wrestling match. “I need a bigger house. You can tell you guys were with Frank. What did he do, feed you guys sugar?”

Denny, jumping up with Alex and Joey still hanging from him, ran his hand through his curly hair. “Yeah.”

“Yeah what?” Dean looked back trying to make it to the kitchen.

“Yeah.” Denny set down the two kids who hung from him. “He gave them sugar.”

“Frank gave them sugar?” Dean nodded. “Not even Frank would feed them plain sugar.”

“No.” Denny laughed at Dean. “Those stick powder things Josephine makes. You know the ones with flavored sugar.”

“Pixie Sticks,” Dean said.

“What?”

“Pixie Sticks. That’s what we called them when I was a kid.”

“Well we don’t call them that here. We call them sticks with the powder stuff in it. Anyway,” Denny let out a long breath, “Frank had a contest. He made us put the powder on our tongues.” Denny stuck out his tongue. “Then he made us hold it there until we folded. It burned our
tongues, Dean.”

“Frank is a sick man and I’m a hungry man.” Dean headed to the kitchen. “Hey, who baked the cookies?” Hearing Denny’s ‘my mom’, Dean knew it was safe to grab one. Sticking it in his mouth and pouring a glass of milk, he headed back to the mass confusion of the living room. He stopped at the dining room table. “What’s this?” He lifted a folder.

“Oh.” Huffing Denny walked to the dining room. “Frank left that here when he picked up the kids. He was too busy changing Alex’s pants to notice. I’ll take it to him.”

“What’s in it?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know. I’m afraid to look. Frank might pull my ear.”

Dean rolled his eyes and opened the folder. Figuring since it was Frank’s, it was worth pissing him off and looking. “Sketches.”

“I saw those.” Denny looked over his shoulder.

“I thought you said you didn’t look in here.”

“I didn’t. I saw when Forrest drew them for Robbie.”

“Forrest drew these for Robbie?” Dean asked.

“That’s what I said. See, Robbie said he was writing a children’s book and needed Forrest to draw it. I kind of think it’s too scary for little kids don’t you think, Dean? Especially . . .” Denny leafed through them, “this one.” He lifted the picture of a woman being accosted and he gave it to Dean.

The moment Dean looked at it he dropped it. “Shit.”

“See, even you’re scared.”

“Um, yeah.” Dean gathered up the sketches and placed them in the folder. “Do you know where Frank is now?”

“He said he wanted a drink before he went back to see Ellen.”

“Thanks.” Dean lifted the folder. “Denny, watch the kids for me for a few more minutes, please?”

“Sure. Are you taking those back to Frank? Maybe he’s going to finish Robbie’s book.”

Dean reached the front door, stopped and smiled at Denny. “I think you’re right, Denny. I think Frank is finishing Robbie’s book. I’ll be back.”

Dean walked at a quick pace, feeling the chill of the evening summer air against his short wearing legs. A lot of people walked around and that told Dean that the social hall probably wasn’t too crowded.

As soon as he walked in, he spotted Joe, Jason, and Forrest seated at the end of the bar near the door. “Hey Joe.”

Joe spun around on his stool and he nudged Jason. “Uh Hi Dean, nice legs you got there.” Snickering Joe returned into the bar.

Jason peered down also. “The gams and the boots.” Jason gave a thumbs up.

Shaking his head, Dean looked at Forrest. “Would you like to comment on my legs too, Forrest?”

“Ah new Done. Uh um newt a log mun. Uh um a boost mun. Boot of you wooed newt mind.” Forrest reached out and laid his hand on Dean’s chest. “Aw, smell boot fem,” chuckling, Forrest returned to Joe, Jason, and his drink.

“Cute.” Dean nodded. “Now if you three old guys . . .” He hunched at their unison ‘hey’ “If you three wise gentlemen are done, have you seen Frank?”

Joe slammed his hand. “Christ, Dean. He’s right over there.” He pointed to Frank who sat in a chair all the way across the social hall. His back faced the rest of the room while Frank stared at the stage where the band usually played. “How can you miss his big ass?”

Clutching the folder closed, Dean walked to Frank. He watched Frank’s head tilt back, finishing off what he had in his glass, and then reach down to the bottle set by his right boot. Seeing him pour and bring the glass to his lips, Dean from behind, extended the folder down in front of Frank, interrupting him. “Lose this?”

“Shit.” Frank stood immediately up taking the folder and spinning to Dean. “Where do you get this?”

“You left it on my dining room table when you picked the kids up.”

“Oh that’s right.” Frank winced at himself. “Shit, I got so caught up in cleaning Alex up since you made her pee her pants that, I forgot I brought this with me. Thanks.” He held the folder up and took a drink from his glass.

Dean stepped back. “Frank, may I ask you something about those?”

“Nope.”

“Sorry. It’s just . . . never mind,” Dean shrugged and turned around.

“It’s just what?” Frank called out to him. “What?”

Slowly Dean turned back and walked to Frank. “This is gonna sound crazy, but it’s just that those sketches are illustrations of what Robbie thinks happened that night right? I mean that’s what I gathered from them. Me on the floor, Ellen being grabbed by the door, and Moses chasing her.”

“Yeah. Get to your point.”

“It’s just the one seems wrong.” Dean raised his hand and dropped it. “I don’t know. I’m nuts, forget I said anything.”

Frank moved to a table and dropped the folder down on it. “Dean.” He called and waved him back with the hand that held the glass. “Which one?”

Dean walked to the table. “This one.” He lifted the picture of Ellen bring grabbed by the lab door.

“Oh. That one. I thought maybe another one. You were passed out when this happened.”

“Yeah I was. But . . .” He watched Frank finish off the drink. “Frank, I thought you were going back to see Ellen at the clinic?”

“I am.” Frank reached for his bottle.

“Then why are you drinking?”

“Why do you care?”

“I care about Ellen and you know how she’s been about your drinking lately. I don’t want her upset.”

“Neither do I.” Frank set the bottle and the glass down
then moved them away. “So, the rest of these sketches look fine though?”

“Yeah. Why do you have all these out?”

“It was Robbie’s investigation stuff. My reason is pretty silly. Let’s just say, and keep it quiet, that I’m looking back into it for my own silly reason.” He saw Dean accepted that. “So tell me, why do you suppose the one sketch that happened while you were passed out is the only one that looks wrong?”

“My silly reason too, I guess. Taking the risk of having you laugh at me, but I dreamt this.” Dean pointed at the sketch. “I dreamt this very incident.”

“Whoa.” Frank held up his hands. “Nowhere in any of Robbie’s notes did it mention you having a dream about this.”

“Plural Frank. Dreams. Why would I tell Robbie that?”

“Because you may have actually saw it and because you were hurt, your mind stuck it deep away. It happens to men in combat all the time. Memories come out in their dreams. What’s different about it?” Frank slid the sketch closer to Dean.

“Frank.”

“Come on. What’s different?”

“Well for starters. See how the right arm is around her waist lifting her and the left arm is around her shoulders?”

“Yes?” Frank looked.

“In my dream, the left arm is under her arms, across her breast, like this.” Dean wrapped his left arm around his own chest demonstrating. “And the right hand covered her mouth.”

Frank’s eyes slowly rose. “What was El doing in your dream?”

“She kicked and fought and then passed out.” Dean lifted his shoulders. “It’s a dream, Frank.”

“How can you be so sure it isn’t a memory?”

“Because in my dream, this,” his index finger came down on the sketch to Moses, “this wasn’t Moses.”

“Another survivor.”

“No, that’s how I can confirm it’s only a dream. This man here,” Dean pointed again, “was John Matoose.” With a raise of his eyebrow, he stepped back.

Frank’s nostrils flared and his face turned immediately red. “Oh, I’ll kill him if I prove this.”

“What?” Dean laughed in ridicule. “You can’t believe my dream Frank.”

“What hand was covering Ellen’s mouth?” Frank asked again.

“The right.”

“You said she kicked and fought.” Frank pulled out a sketch and tossed it down. “A right hand with scratches, Dean. Look, Robbie wrote John’s name on this and in Robbie’s notes he had written that John had three long scratches across his right hand.”

“Shit.”

“Exactly.” Placing his hands on his hips, Frank took a thinking break.

“As scary as it seems, you look in thought.”

“I am. I’m thinking about how to do this right. I have to do this right.”

“Unfortunately, you have only a few scratches on John’s hand, and my dream of course. You can’t back up a dream.”

“But I can if it’s a memory,” Frank snapped. “The only thing is we have to find out for sure if it is.”

“What? A dream or a memory? How do you suppose you do that?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know but I’ll figure out a way.” With a closed mouth, Frank bobbled his head slowly. He reached for his bottle and stopped. Clenching his hand, he pulled it back from the moonshine and laid it on the sketch. As far as Frank was concerned, he knew for certain two people were aware who grabbed Ellen that night, Dean and John. He had two ways to confirm his suspicion. One was to get John to admit it. The other was to get Dean’s memory to the forefront. Unfortunately for Frank, both possibilities would be nearly impossible to accomplish.

<><><><>

Horrified, Henry charged into Ellen’s clinic room. He stood in the doorway and his arms dropped to the side. “I’m sorry, El.” He walked slowly into her room.

“There has to be a mistake. There has to be.” Ellen dragged out her words as she sat on her bed.

“No, El. I’m sorry. Melissa confirmed it. They . . . “Henry’s eyes closed as he sat on the bed. “They gave you Jenny Matoose blood.”

“But how can that be? You and I have the same type blood. Why didn’t they give me your blood?”

“I asked Melissa that. She said because we have rare blood they needed to have it around.”

“But how can they give me Jenny’s blood? I didn’t think they could.”

Henry, looking so down, lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “She said they crossed their fingers and hoped it worked and it did.”

“What am I gonna do, Henry? You don’t think I’ll start acting like her do you?”

“I don’t know.” Henry sounded so worried. “I saw this movie once where they gave this guy another guys hand and the recipient received all the bad things about this guy.”