The End of the Line (36 page)
He
smiled at her, nodded at Peter, and then went into his room. Within ten minutes
of climbing into bed, Latesha could tell by his measured breathing that he was
asleep. She walked outside and sat on the swinging love seat. Peter sat beside
her and wrapped his coat around her.
“You
can feel fall in the air,” she said, looking at the sky and leaning against
him.
Peter
put his arm around her and she laid her head on his shoulder. “I feel like
everything is perfect.”
“Me,
too. I’ve never felt happier in my life.”
They
swung gently back and forth, their warm bodies pressed together. The stars
shone brilliantly, twinkling in a clear, night sky. They leaned toward each
other at the same time and their mouths locked in a kiss. The kiss lasted for
several seconds, then, just as they were pulling away, both of them, as if on
cue, suddenly wrapped their arms around each other and kissed more
passionately, their lips sliding across each other’s in urgent desire.
For ten minutes, they kissed, parted, then kissed
again. It was as if they couldn’t get enough of each other.
“I
finished a drawing,” Peter said, flushed from their kissing. “It’s in the
truck. Can I show it to you?”
“I’d
like that.” She paused. “What’s it of?”
“You,”
he said.
Peter
walked to the truck as Latesha contentedly swung back and forth. Everything was
perfect, as if in a dream, and all her wishes had been realized. Latesha Thomas
was in love, her father accepted him, his mother accepted her, and they were
financially secure. It seemed unfair that so much happiness could fall on one
person. She was so happy, in fact, that she almost felt guilty. Suddenly a
passing car came to a chirping stop.
“End
of the line, Benedick!” a harsh, male voice called out.
Then
a gunshot shattered the evening stillness.
Epilogue
Latesha
jumped up and hurried off the porch. She saw a small, white car under the
streetlight. Inside was a lone occupant with a handgun, a crazy look in his
eyes. He never saw her, but she could clearly see him, including his shaved
head and the swastika tattoo. Without doubt, it was the same man who had caused
trouble at the Beechwood Store that day. He sped away.
Frantically,
almost as if in a dream, Latesha ran to Peter’s truck in the darkness. She saw
him lying on the ground, barely moving. He weakly turned his head to her and
she could see blood. Lots of blood.
“Latesha!”
he mumbled, fear in his eyes, “I need an ambulance.”
“What’s
going on?” she heard her father call frantically from the window.
“Dad!”
Latesha screamed, “call an ambulance! Peter’s been shot.”
“God
Almighty!” Mr. Thomas hollered, immediately calling an ambulance. He quickly
pulled himself out of bed, worked himself into his chair, then hurried outside.
“Where was he hit?”
Latesha
was almost out of her mind with panic. “In the shoulder.” She was kneeling
beside him, holding his head and comforting him. “It was that man who was at
the store that day. The one with the Nazi tattoo.” She lightly stroked his
forehead and noticed a drawing in his hand. It was of her sitting on the bench
the day they first met. The paper was spotted with blood. “You’re going to be
all right, Peter. You’re going to be all right! The ambulance is on the way.”
“They
said they’ll be here in minutes,” Mr. Thomas assured her, his body trembling.
He noticed that Peter seemed to be losing consciousness. “Don’t you dare go to
sleep!” he ordered. “You stay strong.”
Peter
could not respond and he just kept licking his lips, his eyes struggling to
focus. In short order they heard a siren. By now dozens of people from
Beechwood had gathered by the road, looks of terror on their faces. Tin Man had
also come, and even he seemed overwhelmed. The ambulance sped around the corner
and came to an abrupt halt. The paramedics jumped out and began the process of
stabilizing him. Within five minutes they were on their way back to the
hospital.
Blake
drove Latesha, Mr. Thomas and Deon to the emergency department. Latesha waited
in agony, her face buried in her hands. She seemed to occupy a surreal world,
as if hovering somewhere between dream and reality, but she dug Mrs. Elsworth’s
phone number out of her pocket and looked at it with shaking hands. She
literally could not stop shaking as she made the call. Peter’s mother was
frantic, but she thanked Latesha and said she would be there as fast as she
could.
“Don’t
you die!” Mr. Thomas whispered, looking at the door behind which Peter fought
for his life. ”Please, God, don’t let him die. Please.”
A
short time later the police came into the waiting room. An officer told them
that there been another shooting, this one in Lakeview. Apparently the man who
shot Peter was named William Johnson, but had legally changed his name to Adolf
Rockwell. He was related to the Strong family in Lakeview and had been visiting
from Portland, Oregon.
“When
he returned to the Strong home shortly after shooting Mr. Elsworth,” the police
officer explained, “Mr. Rockwell bragged about what he had done. Donnie Strong
tried to wrestle the gun from him, but slipped and fell. He said this Rockwell
character was going to shoot him, but his father—the man they call Daddy Strong—ended
it with a shotgun. Mr. Rockwell was pronounced dead on the scene. We do not
anticipate bringing charges against anyone in the Strong family. We thought you
should know.”
“Thank
you,” Latesha and her father said.
The
doctor came out of the critical care unit. Latesha jumped up and Mr. Thomas,
Blake and Deon all waited with bated breath for the news.
“He’s
going to live,” the doctor said. “It was touch and go for a while and he lost a
lot of blood, but he’s stable. He’s going to make a full recovery.”
“Oh,
my God!” Latesha exclaimed, almost collapsing in her chair. “Thank you, God.
Thank you.”
“If
the bullet had entered two inches lower,” the doctor said, “he would have died
on the spot. It will be several weeks, but he’ll be as good as new.”
“As
good as new?” Mr. Thomas queried. “No permanent disabilities?”
“He
will completely recover.” The doctor paused while they processed the
information. “He’s conscious and has asked to see Latesha and her father.”
Latesha
immediately stood up and Mr. Thomas seemed overwhelmed, but he quickly followed
his daughter through the doorway. Peter was lying in a bed with an IV tube in
his arm and bandages around his shoulder. He looked weak and pale, but he
managed a smile. Latesha and her father moved to the bed with incredibly
fragile expressions, somewhere between tears of sorrow and tears of joy.
Latesha walked to his left side and Mr. Thomas wheeled to his right side.
“Can
you call my mother?” Peter whispered softly to Latesha.
“I
already did,” Latesha told him, leaning down. “She’s on her way.” She kissed
him. “I love you.”
“I
love you,” he said, gazing into her eyes. “You are the one.”
Peter
tilted his head toward Mr. Thomas and weakly looked at him. Suddenly, Peter
slowly slid his right hand across the bed and held it palm up. Mr. Thomas
gently reached out and clasped Peter’s hand, softly holding it. And all was
quiet. The two men, strangers a short time ago, were now inextricably linked by
the one woman they both loved. Latesha leaned against the wall and found in
that one vulnerable moment what she and Peter had been seeking.
The
end of the line.
*The End*
About the Author
Jim Power is
a Canadian
writer who has been published by over 60 magazines and newspapers, including by
the Smithsonian Institution. Jim has published many dozens of romance stories
with magazines in New York and has published numerous literary pieces. He has
written extensively in the field of non-fiction on everything from music to
personality profiles, has published numerous articles in some of North
America’s top outdoors magazines, and has published political Op-Eds in a
prominent newspaper. He studied Honors English at Saint Mary’s University, Russian
Literature at Dalhousie University, and once hitchhiked solo from Halifax to
Vancouver, a distance of 3,800 miles.
The
End of the Line
is one of seven novels he published or placed in 2013.
