By Brett Matthew West
(This is revision number 9,864,513 of this story. Not really, it just seems that way.)
Cast of Characters:
***Cody Schroder - narrator and main character of the book
***Matt Cochran - Cody's lifelong best friend
***Tommy Thompson, Chad Pisscotty, and Tony Brownwood - Cody's social friends and players for the Longhorns football team
***Bee-Bo the Clown - a "ghost" from Cody's past
***Willie Nelson - one of Country music's Legends
***Brock Daniels - Long time Sheriff of Astatula and Cody's father
***Morgan - Tommy Thompson's red-breasted parrot
***you, the reader
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"Hello reader, my name is Cody. Welcome to my world," I've always wanted to say that and I just did. "I have a sneaky suspicion we're going to become rather attached to each other."
Please don't take that remark as an egotistical comment. It's not intended to be. It seems I have a way of making friends with most people I chance meeting. Currently, I am a Freshman at the University of Texas here in Austin majoring in criminology."
I can hear you ask me right now, "Why on Earth would you want to study the science of preventing criminal behavior? There's no money in that field at all. You're wasting your time, dear boy."
"Well, to me money's not everything. And, the short answer is because it's hard to stand in the shadow of a very famous man and not want to emulate him. I'll explain that comment later."
Right now, I'm seated on the balcony of the Blind Pig Pub with some of my friends. We're chug-a-lugging a few ice cold Budweiser beers and swapping stories if we have one. You know, just chilling out.
Dimmed lights and thick cigarette smoke filled the inside of the bar. Those nasty, disgusting, cancer sticks were the reason we sat outside to enjoy the cool puffs of gentle breezes that blew across the vestibule. From our vantage point, the views of Downtown Austin are amazing. Off in the distance I see a rainstorm has gathered over the jagged landscape.
How did we finagle, by devious means of course, alcoholic beverages to consume? Fake IDs are easy to obtain at many places here on campus and will get you into anywhere you want to go. Mine says I'm twenty-two. That ages me about three years. Maybe we rocked society's norms, but isn't that what college kids do?
It was Bee-Bo the (Not So Funny) Clown who once told me, "You gotta be bad to have a good time."
Believe me, there's a real character if ever one existed. And, I have crossed paths with several of them. You'll meet him here in the pages of my autobiography. Anyway, as I reflect, I go back to the International Year of the Potato. That's 2008's magnum opus.
"Don't glance around the room and wonder who I'm addressing this comment to? Yes, it's you, reader. I'm talking to you again. You'll find I like to do so from time to time. I love the interaction. And, you never know when I might. Now, tell me the truth, did you remember that juicy input about 2008? I didn't, and I'm somewhat of a trivia buff. Insignificant tidbits of knowledge just seem to float my boat on down the river, if you know what I mean."
Ten tender years. That number represented my age back then. And, I maintained much more important things on my mind...like surviving.
DJ Mack, the "Knight in Black" as he liked to bill himself, blared music inside the bar. The tune he played was a sad one. A teardrop rolled down my nose from the pain the song inflicted.
Willie Nelson sang, "Whiskey river take my mind. Don't let her memory torture me."
Suddenly, Morgan squawked a loud harsh cry. He's the red-breasted parrot perched on Tommy Thompson's shoulder. Prominent orange plumage can be found on his neck, thighs, and wings.
Tommy once told me, "I've had him since he hatched out of the egg."
Tommy's one of my running buddies. He migrated to Austin from Ann Arbor, Michigan to play defensive end for the Longhorns.
As they say around here, "Hook'em, Horns! Football..That's what life is all about in these parts."
Curious, he asks me, "Wasn't Astatula scorching hot?"
My mind races back to the small community. Mind you, Astatula's not my home town, just where I grew up. I was born in Palo Pinto. There's only forty-six miles road distance between them, but in many ways they were worlds apart.
I recollected how heat from the sun radiated off the blacktop and danced a choreographed pirouette. You saw the waves shimmy. I swallowed a nacho chip whole, sans any jalapeno peppers. I'm not into those fiery green hellcats. A slight hint of salt covered the crisp tortilla.
I told Tommy, "Most summer days the temperature averaged ninety-two degrees in the shade with matching humidity, thank you very much."
My lifelong best friend Matt Cochran sat on my right side. Matt represented the biggest reason I was in Austin. I'd followed him to the University of Texas, where he held a full ride scholarship to play quarterback.
"Highway 62 dissected our peaceful farming town," he interjected into our discussion.
His statement carried weight. Endless fields of snow-white cotton was one of the main crops for many of the stubborn, insular, Astatulan sodbusters we knew. The fluffy stuff lined the fertile banks of the Double Mountain Fork Brazos River. Interestingly enough the Brazos River contained the full Spanish name of "Rio de los Brazos de Dios," which translated into "The river of the arms of God." Try saying that one three times in a row real fast. You've got ten seconds. I double dog dare you.
For the benefit of those seated with me at the table who didn't know, I explain, "The convoluted meandering of the estuary carried its flow along the southern edge of Crosby County."
Tommy asks the group, "Doesn't that sound like a geography lesson?"
I continue telling them, "The deep and wide Yellow House Canyon sat further to the west. And, the recreational Sullivan Lake on the Llano Estacado Mesa, which happened to be part of the Great American Desert."
"Geography can be so dry," Chad Pisscotty chimed in. He rested on my left.
I look at him and reply, "Locals jokingly referred to the mesa as 85 percent sky and 15 percent grassland."
I peek over the balustrade railing in front of us to the busy street below. Traffic flow is heavy for a Wednesday night. Cars, city buses, taxicabs and trucks fill the four lanes of 16th Avenue. A few pedestrians stroll by.
Mentally, I return back to my companions and state, "But, there is a reason I told you these interesting tidbits about Astatula and I plan to keep right on talking for some time to come."
They laugh and one of them says, "You know what kind of a chatterbox Cody can be once he gets started."
I did like to talk.
"Aren't there a whole bunch of those wind turbine things up in that part of Texas?" Tony Brownwood wants to know between sips of his stale brewski.
I shift my position in my chair to a more comfortable one and respond, "They're everywhere, as far as you can see. And, get this, the government pays you to operate them."
"That's just what I want to do when I graduate. Be a wind farmer," Chad laughs. More reserved than the rest of us, he seldom speaks
What I find mesmerizing about the wind turbines are the elongated tentacles on top of those 345-foot tall babies. Around and around and around they spin in a non-stop circular motion. Will make you dizzy to watch them for any length of time.
"They always reminded me so much of the way your life transpired," Matt remarks.
I can not deny his comment. Too many times I felt that way, like I was racing out of control. Self-expression highlights our gab. We all continue to talk with swagger.
Within the pages of my autobiography you will find a wide cast of assorted characters. You will also discover a poignant story about family life and the resilience of the human spirit. But, there is so much more than that to be explored. Because, through my self-reflection and personal candor, you will learn that my story is also about the unexpected bond between three unlikely companions after they became embroiled in mass murder. In addition, I will share with you heartwarming and excruciating insights, as well as friendships that transcended conventional explanations. Matt and I the classic example of that.
So, pull up a chair. You might as well join our little party. You're here anyway. I'd offer you a drink, anything you like, but I'm at UT and you're wherever you are physically located.
I'll start by telling you, "I grew up the ward of a healthy specimen of a man named Brock Daniels. He stood six feet two inches tall and tipped the scales at 220 pounds. Everybody liked him. And, you still want to know why I'm studying criminology?"
"For the last twenty-three years he's been the Sheriff of Astatula," Matt informed the group.
I pause and state, "Whoa, Matt. Let's slow down and start at the beginning. Shall we?"
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement Chapter One of my book.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with all of my Cody Schroder stories. |
By Brett Matthew West
Cast of Characters:
Cody Schroder - main character
Brock Daniels - Sheriff of Astatula and Cody's father
Beth Sorensen - Sheriff Daniels confidant ppl
Ron Wilson - Channel 13 News' dolly grip
Ralph Steiner - Channel 13 News' weatherman
Bob Trumby - Channel 13 News' anchorman
Jim Kearney - Editor-in-Chief of the Astatula Gazette newspaper
Astatula Assassin - unidentified, cold-blooded, killer terrorizing the town
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"I ain't never murdered nobody, but the State of Texas is gonna kill me!" Lionel Simmons proclaimed. Neither wisdom or maturity were evidenced in the condemned serial killer's unkempt grey beard. Nor did the covering look mesmerizing with his elongated nose and bald head. Its snags and tangles in bad need of a cleansing trim, the unwashed and uncombed facial hair sprouted a rogue appearance.
The inward depression in his chest, an obvious case of pectus excavatum, was strapped taunt to a stainless-steel, heavy-duty, reinforced stretcher-framed gurney. Ponderous because of his enormous weight, the girth around his middle, and his disproportionate spindly legs, held other restraints. In a violent struggle, cold, metallic buckles fought against themselves to remain secured in place as a saline solution began to flow through the IV lines in his veins.
All present remained on high alert in case the new straps somehow failed and the six-nine behemoth became free. They witnessed the foot-controlled hydraulic backrest, casters with their central lock, padded armboards, and the gurney's beech wood powder coat finish. Simmons scanned the room in silence and plotted. Easy breaths were not drawn.
In his deliberate Tejano English East Texas drawl, with the region's famous linguistic twist, Warden Darren MacMurphy looked down at the low-class pelado bound in death's throes and snarled, "There is one person alone who can halt your demise, Simmons. However, Governor Santos has demonstrated no intention to spare your worthless life."
Simmons spit a loaded goober in the warden's face. In anger he retorted, "Vete a la chingada!"
Warden MacMurphy wiped his face dry with the back of his hand and stated, "You filthy warthog! I've already been there. The flames of Hell await you. Roast in them!"
The trenchant syringe of pentobarbital penetrated deep into the vein in Simmons' arm. The hooded executioner depressed A reticent telephone hung on the turquoise wall of the execution chamber. Stillness filled the air.
TV cameras rolled outside the Polunsky Unit of the Texas Death Chamber in Huntsville. Sweet, and full of allure, the ginger coquette Amanda Norton reported, "Listed among the crimes Lionel Simmons has been convicted of is the savage machete murder of his fifteen year old nephew Elijah Thompson in Abilene that occurred on March 26, 2007, for which he received the death penalty."
A gift from someone she once knew, Amanda looked at the Piaget Altiplano watch clasped around her left wrist. The diamonds afforded her self-worth. The reporter witnessed no protesters on the street. Eerieness settled over her as a slow F150, with a far-too noticeable dented front fender, approached. George Strait's "Check Yes Or No" blared from the radio. The dark Stetson perched on top of the tenderoni's head, and his dimpled chin, caught Amanda's flirtatious eye. The truck braked to a halt along the curb.
Raspberry Sorbet the flavor of the night, Amanda inhaled a deep breath and licked her creamy lips in anticipation. The feline purred into her microphone, "The local time is 8:13pm. Soon, Lionel Simmons will pay for his atrocities."
I ask you, does cannibalism sound like something a sane man would do? I've left cannibalism to the likes of the Milwaukee Monster Jeffrey Dahmer, and the Crossbow Cannibal Stephen Griffiths. All these years I've rotted away in my fifty-four square foot cage, I've remained in full control of my faculties. Now, they are prepared to strap me to this gurney. Condemn me if you must. The facts surrounding my case are detailed in the trial transcript."...
CHANNEL 13 NEWS COMES ON THE AIR IN A DIMINUTIVE WEST TEXAS PUEBLO.
"Good day, Astatula! I'm Bob Trumby and this is your noontime report. Once again China announces they will increase tariffs on more than 25 billion in US goods. This hike is made in response to President Pamela Donaldson's declaration she plans to increase taxes on 250 billion in products imported from China. Caught up in this trade war are American citizens who foot the bill for these taxes. President Donaldson calls for patience and patriotism, but the little man continues to suffer." Trumby rolls his eyes, pauses, then says, "We'll continue with other news in a moment, but first let's get a quick look at our weather with meteorologist Ralph Steiner."
Ron Wilson, Channel 13's dolly grip, zooms in on the weatherman. Small beads of perspiration dot Steiner's forehead. They are observed through the lens of the jib camera. A stylish wig covers Steiner's receding hairline. He wears a royal blue business suit and a coordinated grey striped tie. Steiner's patent leather wing-tips shine in the bright light of the studio. Behind him, an oversized wall chart depicts the high and low temperatures for the coming week. The graph accents the highs in periwinkle and the lows in crescent.
"We continue to monitor the imminent threat to South Padre Island Hurricane Darius poses. With landfall from the massive Category 4 storm anticipated to occur inside of the next thirty-six hours, all residents of the popular resort are ordered to evacuate for their safety. Meanwhile, much closer to home a ferocious heatwave persists in Crosby County. Scorching temperatures will remain in the high nineties at least through the middle of next week," Steiner's clear timbre rebounds.
From his seat at the anchor desk, Trumby shakes his head in disbelief.
"That makes sixteen days in a row, Bob, with no relief in sight," Steiner says.
In his Pepto-Bismol pink suit, the copper-haired newscaster chides the flamboyant weatherman. "That's not what we wanted to hear, Ralph. Don't you have any good news for us?"
"The news isn't all bad, Bob," Steiner beams.
Steiner's comment draws a look of consternation from Trumby. A broad smile crosses his face as he approaches the desk and explains, "Ten local, impoverished, families were the proud beneficiaries of shopping sprees to Wal-Mart last night in Channel 13's Clothe-A-Child community service project. Each of them received a hundred dollar gift card to purchase new clothes for their youngsters. Bright smiles and appreciative hearts abounded."
"Channel 13 would like to thank Hayden Feed and Seed, Tori's Motors, and Davis Farm Equipment. The continued support of our local sponsors helps make Clothe-A-Child a huge success. Be sure to visit them today and say much obliged," Trumby adds. He picks up a stack of papers, taps them together on top of his desk, and stares into the camera. "AFD Chief Ron Walton attributes last Tuesday's fire at the mall, that destroyed Imogene's Stitchery, to arson. Walton further reminds us fires are more susceptible to dry weather this time of year. A burn ban is in effect. And, in other news, the elusive Astatula Assassin remains at large."
King of his castle, Sheriff Brock Daniels picked up the remote control. Looking down at his uniform shirt he noticed a wrinkle. The furrow did not set well with the lawman. A swipe of his hand smoothed it out. Daniels grumbled, "Where in the world did you come from? I hate wrinkles. They make me look sloppy, and since I am a public figure I can not look like a grungy slipshod artiste."
He aimed the unit at his wall-mounted Emerson, pressed a button and said, "Bye-bye boob tube. Always the same old same old, but never anything informative."
Meticulous, the sheriff placed the clicker back in its rightful location as Beth Sorenson entered the room. She overheard his grousing and stated, "At least, our little hamlet allows you to work at home, Brock. That's a commodity you can't get in the big city."
The sheriff replied, "Believe me, Beth, working at home is a luxury I do not take frivolous."
The file the sheriff hunted swam somewhere within the sea of manila folders on the table. Frustrated at his inability to put his hands on it, his brooded tone sharpened. He said, "Didn't I ask Cody Michael to leave these files alone this morning while he ate his cornflakes before going to school?"
Daniels drummed his fingers on top of the table and fought off the festering mood he sensed about to explode. "That boy can be stubborn as a Great Dane when he sets his mind to such foolishness. Perhaps being grounded for two weeks will get the message through his obstinate, thick head and make him listen better when I ask him not to do something."
A devout crafter of small talk, Beth placed a cup of hot java in front of him and slipped into a high-backed chair. She replied, "Cody doesn't need to be grounded. He's a good kid in spite of all the scandalous rumors we here about him. Because of his background people sometimes misunderstand his intentions. That's all." Quickly, she changed the subject, "How did the killer come to be known as the Astatula Assassin, Brock?"
Sheriff Daniels sipped his coffee and explained, "Because of the savage peculiarity in which his first two victims epitomized butchery, Jim Kearney, the Editor-in-Chief of the Astatula Gazette newspaper penned the pseudonym on him." He looked up at Beth and remarked, "This coffee is hot! See the steam coming off it?"
Beth commented, "Well, trip the light fantastic. So, you still haven't found what you seek."
Sheriff Daniels feigned a grin, "No, I haven't, wiseacre. But, I will. That file's got to be here somewhere."
He rifled through them again as Beth layed her napkin on her lap.
The sheriff recalled, "It seems to me the newspaper enjoyed record sales the first day the headlines about the Astatula Assassin broke. In fact, some people have told me that edition is the only mullet wrapper they ever purchased."
Silent, Beth remained attentive.
"In some sadistic manner, I reckon the front page feature must have brought notoriety to the killer. As Andy Warhol once said, 'Everyone's entitled to their fifteen minutes of fame.'"
"In a case like this, doesn't it always?"
Sheriff Daniels noticed a plate Beth had placed on the table. Hungry, he queried, "Are those cheesy, double beef, burritos ready to eat?"
"Yes they are. I made them just for you, Brock. So enjoy!"
She sat one in front of the sheriff.
"Ah-ha!" He exclaimed locating the missing folder he stalked and jested, "You tried to escape from me you little rascal, but there you are." Proud of his discovery, he told Beth, "Clipped together inside this miniscule widget are several controversial comments pertaining to the Astatula Assassin. These crop up in the scandal sheets on a daily basis."
Beth observed the thickness of the file, "It seems everybody in town provides you with their own opinions about what you should do to make Astatula safe again and solve these murders, Brock,"
"That is what they pay me for."
The sheriff tossed the file into the garbage can that stood on the floor beside his chair and took a bite out of his exquisite burrito. His taste buds locked on the creamy chipolte sauce that flavored them. The tangy combination of adobe and smoked jalapenos excited his taste buds
"Mighty fine," he complimented Beth.
"Thanks, Brock. Glad you enjoy my creations. But, back the stallions up a moment, Cowboy. Didn't Cody cut those accounts out of the newspapers for his scrapbook?"
"The little munchkin'll never miss them."
"Where are you at on the investigation, Brock?"
"The normal rigmarole. I've assured the public my office does all that can be done to catch the killer."
"And, you looked cute on TV," Beth interrupts with a sly grin.
The sheriff studied her gregariousness and enjoyed her attractiveness. He stated, "I've also advised them to keep their doors and windows locked at all times." Not stupid, the seasoned lawman understood those protocols only went so far. "And, I've urged them to travel with at least one other companion, to stay off the streets after dark, and take whatever measures necessary to protect themselves."
"The Astatula Assassin is dangerous to the extreme," Beth agreed.
"I know this psycho's mode of operation, and I've seen his type before. But, what baffles me the most about him, Beth, is his penchant to acquire body parts like ears, noses, fingers, and toes as trophies of his defilement. What kind of demented abnormality does something like that?"
"A mentally de-arranged one."
Beth retrieved the half-emptied cask on the edge of the table and refilled their brandy snifters. Warm to the palate, the sweet digestif refreshed them and provided a pleasant end to their mid-day brunch. The chore completed, she expressed, "He reminds me of the Corpus Christie Cannibal. That animal butchered seventeen men and boys before he was stopped."
"As part of the task force assigned to bring that psychopathic whack job down, I know him well. And, I'll be damned if that's happening in Astatula!"
Beth smiled. She appreciated the sheriff's self-assured confidence.
Sheriff Daniels concluded, "You see, a brilliant woman once told me the key to unriddle the finer nuances of this mystery is to think the unthinkable, then do them. I'm close . I can feel it in my bones. I've got the grapes. Now it's time to discover the wine."
| Author Notes |
Vete a la chingada - Go to Hell
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of this incredible picture that has provided Cody a well known, and easily recognizable face. |
By Brett Matthew West
In Chapter One, known as Cody, a troubled boy with a hard past is introduced. Chapter One details a fight Cody gets into with his best friend after a bike race home from school. The boy's father, and Cody's guardian, hear the commotion and decide parental action is necessary. This is the second part of that story.
Yes, this story deals with child discipline, which may be a controversial topic for some readers. And, I deliberately wrote it in graphic detail. For storyline purposes.
Read the story and you will see why.
Reviewers:
I am much more interested in reviews that point out errors and weaknesses in my story
and answer:
1 - Was the story realistic? If not, why?
2 - Did the story draw you into the action? If not, why?
Than I am about how many stars you slap on the story.
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Cody was fuming when he stormed through the front door of the house. He immediatly marched up the pile-carpeted, circular stairway and flung open his bedroom door. In doing so, he banged the brass doorknob on the back side of the door loudly against the wall behind it. The act did not knock a hole into the wall, but it chipped a piece of plaster off the wall. The chip fell harmlessly onto the floor behind the door.
Cody snatched a white, cotton, bath towel off the wolf-imprinted spread covering his bed. He unceremoniously tossed the towel into the square, black, plastic clothesbasket sitting in the far corner of his bedroom. He had left the towel laying on his bed that morning when he flew out of the house like a tornado. He cut being late for school again razor close.
He was in trouble and knew his guardian would soon properly handle the situation. Cody did not like that feeling. Being paddled was nothing new to Cody. He had been ever since he could remember. Except, they were not exactly paddlings. They were a whole lot worse than that. At least, for the last five years they were.
Cody never knew his mother. Evelyn Margaret Madison had not taken her husband's last name. All she cared about was the Wacky Weed Parties that the East Los Angeles Playground was famous for. Everybody getting high as a kite, soaring the stratosphere, and staying there.
Alcohol flowed freely at these events as well. And, all that mattered to the participants was the psychedelic world of the hard drugs, featuring meth, crack, heroine, and cocaine. Completely absorbed in this lifestyle, she abandoned Cody shortly after his Pediatrician, Doctor Robert Lamfort, swatted his newborn bottom and declared him alive.
If that is what you could call life with his father. Baker Acted on three separate occasions, and committed to the City of Angels Mental Institute in Antelope Valley, south of Los Angeles, on two others, Earl Anthony Schroder was a Certified Fruit Cake.
He was not much more than the sperm donor from the previous generation of Cody's family tree. It was a well known fact he never wanted to be burdened with the "Product of an Ill-Begotten One Night Fling" as he commonly referred to Cody.
Not only did Earl Anthony Schroder not want his progeny, he made no bones about his staunch feelings. He constantly told Cody how utterly worthless a life form the boy was. The physical, and emotional, abuse he doled out to Cody, almost on a daily basis, left their marks and bruises behind. However, it was the sexual abuse that scarred him inside, to the point he had no attachment to his father. For the last 1,825 days, and counting, Cody had wanted to be dead much more than he desired to keep breathing air.
Then, six weeks ago, Earl Anthony Schroder died drunk in a fatal, single vehicle, crash on Ventura Highway when he smashed head-on into an embankment at 93 miles an hour. Informed of his father's dramatic demise, Cody did not care. All he knew was some telephone calls had been made and now he was in the custody of his guardian.
Cody heard his bedroom door open. He watched his guardian enter the room, slowly walk across the floor, and seat himself at the foot of the bed. He nodded his head, and Cody knew what that meant. He was to immediately extract the thin wooden paddle from off the top of the five-drawer mahogany dresser it lay on and deliver the implement to his guardian.
The boy wondered if being paddled by his guardian was going to be more of the same type of beating he received from his father. The paddle in hand, Cody took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He turned to face his guardian. It was only six short steps and he was tensely standing beside him. Cody flipped the paddle around in his outstretched right hand so the handle was facing his guardian. It would not be very long now.
His guardian looked up at Cody with a stern expression on his Southern-California, sun-tanned, face and grasped the paddle tightly in his right hand. Cody would not try to talk his way out of what he had coming. He decided it was better to just get the ordeal over with.
Cody felt his guardian reach up and take hold of his wrist.
"Get down here where you belong, Little Man," his guardian instructed him to do, as he pulled Cody over, and positioned him across his knee.
The palms of Cody's small hands rested flat on the floor on the far side of his guardian's knee. The toes of his sneakers barely reached the floor on the other side. His guardian placed his hand in the middle of Cody's back to balance the boy. He laid the blade of the paddle down on the seat of Cody's bluejeans. Trying to be brave, Cody held his position as best he could.
"Now, Little Man, explain to me why you started that fight with Matt when you got home from school today," his guardian wanted to know in a surprisingly calm demeanor.
Cody briefly hesitated. The first stinging bite was taken out of his backside, but the boy did not cry out. The second one soon followed.
"I am waiting for an answer, Little Man," his guardian reminded Cody applying the third swat. This one more firmly than the first two.
Cody winced but he did not yelp. "I don't know," was all he told his guardian. And, he really did not have a good explanation for what he had done.
"You don't know?" his guardian asked him with the fourth application.
Cody could feel the swats getting firmer with each number.
"No, Sir," Cody managed to say.
"Well, I know precisely what to do about it, Little Man!" his guardian told him, "And, I am going to!"
Five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten were applied and Cody squirmed more with each bitter sting. Although his tail end was barking loudly, and howling like a coyote, he did not allow himself the luxury of crying. However, somewhere deep inside him strange, unexplained, feelings arose. Cody did not know what to make of them. He had never felt anything like them before in his life. So, he decided to keep them to himself.
The paddling completed, Cody's guardian stood him upright on his feet and said, "No more fighting, Little Man. It will not be tolerated. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
With tears welling up in his sparkling blue eyes, Cody promised his guardian he would not fight with Matt any more. Then, with those strange feelings still strong, he did something he had never done when his father beat him. He apologized for his misbehavior.
His guardian hugged Cody tightly, and he really did not know what to make of that. It was the first time in Cody's whole life that he had ever been hugged by anyone.
Then, Cody shivered as if he was freezing cold. There were those strange, unexplained feelings popping up inside him again. He did not understand what they were, but they made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.
Cody's guardian handed him the paddle and told him, "Go put your paddle back on top of your dresser where it belongs. Then, Little Man, I want you to go over and sit down at your desk. And, I want you to think real hard about how you are to properly behave in this house from now on. When you figure that out then you can come downstairs."
Cody took the paddle from his guardian. Slowly he strolled over and laid it down on top of his dresser under his guardian's watchful eye. Completing the task, Cody made his way to the black Aeron chair standing by his oak writing desk. He pulled it out so he could sit down on the foam cushion on its seat. He watched his guardian stand up. While he was in quiet contemplation Cody knew there was to be no playing with anything. Not his toy soldiers that always won the war. Not his train set. And especially not his video games or his computer. Nothing.
As Cody tenderly sat down, uncomfortably on sore haunches, his guardian left his bedroom.
(Stay tuned. This story is just getting heated up. Like the seat of Cody's bluejeans were. We will return after this short station break.)
| Author Notes |
This part of the story tells Cody's paddling from his guardian in graphic detail.
Therefore, it may not be for the faint of heart, but it is integral to the storyline. ***The first part of this story, known as Cody, details the reason for this event to happen. Check it out today. bedroom, by dubach, chosen to compliment this part of my story. So thanks dubach for the use of your picture. It goes so well with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Cast of Characters:
Cody Schroder - main character of the story
Sheriff Brock Daniels - long time sheriff of Astatula
Beth Sorensen - Sheriff Daniels' confidant
Lionel Simmons - Corpus Christi Cannibal. Murdered seventeen men and boys
Mark Stevens - the first victim of the Corpus Christi Cannibal
Marcus Washington and Darius Noles - co-owners of the Ichabon Buffet and the first two victims of the Astatula Assassin
Anthony Schiavanni - retired police captain. Challenges Sheriff Daniels in his re-election campaign
Buzz Cochran - Sheriff Daniels' best friend and campaign director
Astatula Assassin - mass murderer in the small Texas town
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THE SHERIFF LAYS TWO POLAROIDS FACE UP ON THE TABLE. He comments, "Isn't it peculiar the deceased have been small business owners like Marcus Washington and Darius Noles who owned the Ichabon Buffet? I've heard it said all members of the human species start dying the moment they're born."
"There went one of our favorite diners," Beth responds.
The idiosyncrasy of the sheriff's anomaly enters her mind while they discuss the Astatula Assassin. She removes their dirty dishes from the table, rinses them off in the sink under warm water, stacks them in the dishwasher, and operates the Amana.
Lost in deep contemplation, Sheriff Daniels remarks, "Earlier, you said the Astatula Assassin reminds you of Lionel Simmons, the Corpus Christi Cannibal."
"Who was just executed the other day," Beth confirms.
"He got what he deserved," Sheriff Daniels is quick to remark. "Over the progression of eleven years, Lionel Simmons raped, tortured, murdered, dismembered and consumed parts of his victims' cadavers."
The thought makes Beth quiver like icy cold water runs down her back.
The sheriff notices, and to calm her nerves, adds, "No evidence exists to prove any of his sufferers were alive at the time of consumption."
"What else do you know about Lionel Simmons and his reign of terror?" Beth asks.
Sheriff Daniels leans back in his chair and recalls, "Simmons was the second oldest of five children. He had three sisters and two brothers. Simmons also had alcoholic parents. Evidence shows the paranoid schizophrenic to be a woodworker by trade, and divested of attention as a young child by his infirmed mother."
"That's never a good combination," Beth says.
The sheriff continues his story, "Repressed, Simmons manifested an interest in animals he accumulated. This included the roadside carcasses of those run over by traffic. These, he dismembered and stored in Mason jars hidden in his family's toolshed."
Unsure she wants to hear the rest of this, Beth rejoins the sheriff at the table.
"On one occurrence, Simmons decapitated a feral cat. He nailed its body to a tree and impaled its shell on a stake in Belleview Park down the street from where he abided. Solitary by nature, Simmons learned how to bleach animal bones from his chemist father. When he reached thirteen, he divulged he was a homosexual and developed fantasies about the total domination of other males."
"Didn't Simmons live a BDSM lifestyle?" Beth asks.
"This much is known, two weeks after he graduated from high school, Simmons committed his first violent random murder. His patsy was Mark Stevens. Simmons bludgeoned Stevens with a baseball bat outside the Half Acre Bar in Houston. He dissected the nineteen year old in the crawl space of the home he lived in."
"There are some real sickos in this world. That's for sure," Beth states.
The sheriff ponders her remark, "I'll tell you this much, the similarities of the murders committed by the Astatula Assassin brings Simmon's recollections back to me."
Beth wonders, "I'm sure they do, Brock, but, do you think we have a copycat on our hands?"
Unable to reveal the quandary, the sheriff responds, "I don't know, Beth."
"And that Brock, is just enough to keep you scented like a bloodhound on the trail that ties these random murders together," Beth insists. She raises a hand to the back of her neck and massages her tense muscles. The maneuver feels good.
"Believe me, Beth. No one wants the Astatula Assassin more than I do. The morbid degenerate needs to be stopped!" the sheriff replies. "Not only that, but Astatulan voters demand someone they can trust to enforce their laws. And, that someone is me."
"That would be a wonderful feather in your cap in the middle of a close re-election," Beth chimes in.
"I'm no rookie to the political world, Beth," the sheriff remarks, "and, I still maintain a slim edge over Anthony Sciavanni, that untested, retired Police Captain from Dallas, who relocated to Crosby County."
"You don't need to worry about being re-elected Sheriff, Brock. The results are just a matter of time," Beth states in confidence. "After all, you've built a rather successful law enforcement career out of intensive labor, and that's something this town can never forget. So, just push all thoughts about the campaign out of your mind. There are much more important matters to confront. Those other pieces will take care of themselves."
From out of the blue, Sheriff Daniels asks, "Where's Cody? Shouldn't the little imp be home from school by now? They only had a half day."
"Brock, it's twenty after twelve. Cody'll be home soon," Beth answers him. "This case has got you wound up tight, hasn't it?"
"It isn't so much the case," the sheriff tells her, "I feel more like the Astatula Assassin has placed me in this constricted predicament as if somehow to test my resolve. I assure you, it's a challenge I accept. And, I did promise to take Cody to see that new Avengers: Endgame movie at the IMAX. He is so into that whole superhero film scene."
A moment passes before Beth comments, "Superboy's been fighting kryptonite his whole life." She gathers her thoughts then confesses, "I do believe though in the six weeks we've had him, Cody's come out of his shell some. By the way Brock, thanks for inviting Cody to the movie. He'll appreciate you more for that." With a kiss on his lips, she smiles, "So do I, Cowboy."
The sheriff considers Beth's response. He knows she believes in the perfectibility of humanity, even if he does not. In agreement with her comment about Cody, he says, "After what the boy's been through, if anybody's earned the right to be ten feet tall and bulletproof, it's that little man."
A bell peals. Buzz Cochran, the sheriff's boon companion and campaign director, stands at the entrance of the residence. Punctual as ever, he reports for their consultation to strategize the newest scheme in the sheriff's re-election bid. Beth opens the door and Cochran enters the residence.
The sheriff takes note, "Greetings, partner."
Cochran joins them at the table with a folded newspaper tucked under his arm. He comments as though he knows a secret, "With the Astatula Assassin on the loose, the voting public scrutinizes you much closer than they ever have before. Check out the lead story."
Sheriff Daniels takes the newspaper from Cochran and proclaims, "I want to make a statement so consummated no one ever questions my leadership again. So, let's get to work shall we?"
| Author Notes |
This is an updated edition of this chapter and would appreciate any comments or reviews especially from those familiar with the story.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture that has supplied Cody with such an easily recognizable face. |
By Brett Matthew West
Cast of Characters:
Cody Schroder - main character of the book
Sheriff Brock Daniels - long time sheriff of Astatula
Beth Sorensen - Sheriff Daniels' confidant
Buzz Cochran - Sheriff Daniels' boon companion and campaign director
Earl Anthony Schroder - Cody's biological sperm donor. For ten years he physically, emotionally, mentally, and sexually abused Cody
Miss Johnson - Cody's teacher at Astatula Elementary School
Mrs. Truman - librarian at Astatula Elementary School
Mr. Miller - principal of Astatula Elementary School
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End of Chapter 1 - Part 1:
The sheriff considered Beth's response. He knew she believed in the perfectibility of humanity. In agreement he said, "After what Cody's been through if anybody's earned the right to feel ten feet tall and bulletproof it's that little man."
A bell pealed. Buzz Cochran, the sheriff's boon companion and campaign director, stood at the entrance of the residence. Punctual and polished, he reported on schedule for their predetermined consultation to strategize the newest scheme in the sheriff's re-election bid. Beth opened the door and Cochran entered.
"Greetings, partner," the sheriff took note. With the Astatula Assassin on the loose, he perceived the voting public scrutinized him much closer than they had before, "I want to make a statement so consummated no one will ever doubt my leadership again. So, let's get to work on wrapping up this election, shall we?"
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Once again, the idiom stop and smell the roses entered the mischief-maker's mind. Sometimes that became a difficult accomplishment for Cody, but the achievement forced him to appreciate the world. To remain in the moment proved harder yet.
The sights, sounds, and smells of objects around him focused the boy's attention on the present and prevented Cody's thoughts from redirecting to his past. When those circumstances occurred, the mental respites only produced unwanted memories. Cody kept a penny in his shoe to remind him to remain in the moment. For self-preservation, he surrounded himself with the defense shield that kept him alive his whole life.
He remembered his school's guidance counselor suggested, "Participate in what interests you without allowing your time to be consumed by anyone else."
That's how Cody felt special. He was well versed in reading body language. He also noticed the actions of others and could quickly determine their underlying intentions.
The abuse doled out to him on a daily basis by Earl Anthony Schroder taught Cody small surprises produced unwanted flashbacks. How well the boy remembered that whatever angered people the most, whatever made them inconsolably sad, and whatever hurt them the worst, Earl Anthony Schroder gleefully spent his life doing.
"Hey, pissant. It rounds me out," Earl Anthony Schroder used to constantly disclose.
Cody liked to gaze at the stars in the night sky. He realized there was a big universe out there. He also enjoyed watching animals in their natural habitats, especially the migration of birds. The free-flight of bobwhites, hummingbirds, and whooping cranes fascinated him. Cody longed to fly away with them. But, that was wishful dreaming.
Most of all, Cody loved the aroma of fresh roses. The yellow ones were his favorites. Not only did they smell good, they helped him learn to see details in other gadgets he never spotted before. A skill that served him well.
While Sheriff Daniels and Buzz Cochran plotted the best manipulation of his re-election campaign, a bell rang at Astatula Elementary School. The egg-shell white center of matriculation perched high on a well-manicured grassy knoll at the intersection of Mountain View Drive and Cassandra Boulevard. The academy's ten classrooms efficiently availed the necessities of Astatula's youngest pupils.
Never more than an average student, Cody applied himself only enough to get by in the classroom. Lunch and spending time on the playground that contained a variety of slides, swings, and a sandbox were the two activities he reveled in the most. Rambunctious, Cody's favorite apparatus was the brightly-colored, rocket-shaped, monkey bars. These he swung, climbed, hung upside down by the back of his knees, or sat on. The school's all-in-one soccer field, baseball diamond, and football field led away from the playground. Cody played all three whenever he could.
Astatula Elementary erupted into a frenzied detonation of ecstatic children racing for the big yellow buses that whisked them back home. The local time read one o'clock on the Friday afternoon before Summer Break. Cody couldn't wait. Summer was his second favorite time of the year. The day Earl Anthony Schroder died his first.
He didn't care that his teacher, Miss Johnson, told the class, "Summer vacation came about because of necessity." She'd looked around at the shining faces of her students and explained, "In the settlement of the mostly agricultural United States, when our country was being formed, children were needed at home to help plant crops."
Most of the pupils hung on Miss Johnson's every word. All that mattered to Cody was there would be no more teachers' dirty looks for two-and-a-half glorious months. Instead of fighting the mad rush caused by his classmates exiting the room, Cody waited to be the last one out except for Miss Johnson, then departed for the library. A grey-haired woman stood behind the desk. Cody noticed how her bouffant hairdo made her resemble Marge Simpson.
Silently, he snickered to himself. He handed his long overdue book to the librarian and announced, "I found A Tale Dark And Grimm, Mrs. Truman."
The book told the story of Hansel and Gretel in eight Grimms'-inspired tales and featured them in the middle of foreboding woods on its cover. Cody related well to the premise of the hardback. The writing characterized his life: dark and grim. That's why he read the book.
A mean snarl crossed Mrs. Truman's face. Her hawk-beaked nose, with it's prominent bridge, the distinguished feature. Cody thought the expression improved the old sourpuss's mug but did not dare say so. Most youngsters were frightened of her. She wasn't the easiest person in the world to get along with. Cody did not fear her.
Volatile in nature and unpredictable, Mrs. Truman pushed eighty. She glared over the coke-bottled eyeglasses that adorned her face. Blind as a bat without them, she desperately needed to wear the black-framed spectacles with thick trifocal lenses. Even then, it seemed she struggled to see.
Mrs. Truman took the book from Cody's outstretched hand and plopped the collection of fairy tales on the top shelf of a cart beside her. Sarcastically she grumbled, "What do you know? Miracles never cease, do they? You finally found your missing library book."
To Cody, it appeared the wicked witch always attempted to get a rise out of students. She specialized in that area of psychology.
Unruffled, he replied, "Un-huh. It was buried on the bottom of my schoolbag all along."
In a monotone, Mrs. Truman told Cody, "The fine will be one dollar and fifty cents."
Cody reached into the front pocket of the faded denim jeans he wore. He fished his hand around and extracted six shiny new quarters he'd earned from recycling aluminum cans. Without counting them, or another word spoken, Cody handed the silver to the librarian and slung the thin straps of his bag over his shoulders.
Meteorically, Cody departed the media center. He whistled a tune to himself as he dashed merrily along his way. He rounded the far corner of a long corridor where he almost bumped headlong into Mr. Miller, the school's strict principal.
"Clear the tracks. Freight train coming through!" Mr. Miller quipped.
Transfixed, Cody halted.
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of this incredible picture that has provided Cody with such an easily recognizable face. |
By Brett Matthew West
Cast of Characters:
Cody Schroder - main character of the book
Astatula Assassin - deranged madman terrorizing the small town
Tori Landa - victim of the Astatula Assassin
Bill Miller - Principal of Astatula Elementary School
Elaine - deceased wife of the Astatula Assassin
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End of Chapter Two:
Meteorically, Cody departed the media center. He whistled a tune to himself as he dashed merrily along his way. He rounded the far corner of a long corridor, where he almost bumped headlong into Mr. Miller, the school's strict principal.
"Clear the tracks. Freight train coming through!" Mr. Miller quipped.
Transfixed, Cody halted.
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The Head of the Food and Drug Administration, dieticians, and all other associated health food aficionados would disapprove of the consumption of what slowly sizzled on the white-hot grill. Seasoned with salt, pepper, and a selected variety of preferred spices, the delicacy was a different kind of snap, crackle, and pop. A slight puff of smoke rose in the air as the Astatula Assassin flipped the long pork over. For a change of pace, the connoisseur dashed a smathering of paprika on the hallux. Soon, he'd feast.
The feet may not be gourmet, but the Assassin treasured their texture and taste. In happier times, these feet waltzed to Strauss's "On The Beautiful Blue Danube". They also strolled the sandy beach at Galveston while seagulls mewed and clear blue sea waves crashed.
The meal was the cannibal's means of celebrating his victory over his latest victim, Tori Landa. Wrapped in foil, a baked potato was seated next to the ungulas. To this, he would add sour cream, butter, and bacon bits. An ear of corn roasted on its far side. A tossed salad chilled in the refrigerator inside his home. A fine Reginato Celestina sparkling rose wine capped his dining experience. The Astatula Assassin's freezer was filled to the brim with the results of his latest processing labors.
The Assassin doubted whether Tori Landa would even be missed by anybody she'd known. Her kind usually weren't, especially any time soon. She was nothing more than a teenaged runaway he'd picked up hitchhiking outside of Laredo. He recalled the look of terror across the girl's face when he stopped his pickup truck and produced the knife he fileted her alive with. In his twisted mind, some pictures are worth a thousand words.
With eyes that wouldn't stop crying, Tori'd sniveled like a little whipped pup. The Assassin may have allowed her a more dignified death, but decided she didn't deserve one. And, if Tori hadn't spurned his advances she may have lived a while longer. The Assassin could not tolerate those kinds of reactions in his victims. They were no more than acts that sealed her doom and brought a joyous smile to the Assassin's face.
No one suspected him capable of such bizarre cruelties. After all, he was a pillar of society and one of Astatula's upstanding civic leaders. A memory from several years before haunted him. Once, one of the nicest men in the small town, he'd travelled to Laredo for a convention only to have his wife take sick while he was gone. Friends attempted to relay him a message, but he was on his way back to Astatula and the message never got delivered.
As he drove back into town, he saw a burying party in the graveyard. Being the neighborly man that he was, he drove over to see who'd died. The grief-stricken people stopped the proceedings for they were burying his wife.
Now, the last question the Assassin always asked his victims before he slaughtered them was, "Do you think Elaine might have lived if I'd gotten back sooner?"
To this bizarre question, each of them replied, "No, you couldn't have done a thing."
Their response infuriated the Assassin who did not believe them. In turn, their fallacy made butchering the sacrificed easier.
Not even good ole Bill Miller, the principal of Astatula Elementary School, who dressed down unruly pupils, knew the truth. Oh, but, Bill Miller was in the Assassin's vaunted crosshairs. Miller could bet on that. Two decades earlier, the Assassin had been in the same position of whatever unfortunate student stood there and felt the administrator's wrath. In his mind, he could see the whole scene play out. That was all the reason the Assassin needed to plot revenge against the educator.
Obviously displeased by Cody's careless actions, Mr. Miller reminded him, "Young man, you are well aware there is to be no running in the hallways. Have you not been reminded of this rule several times before? And yet, and yet, you still perform the forbidden manipulation."
Cantankerous as he sometimes desired to be, Cody replied with a simple, "Yes, I have, Mr. Miller."
He wasn't deliberately being defiant. All Cody wanted was out of the building, not to be detained by the school's esteemed gestapo.
The principal's message came across loud and clear, "On two previous occasions I can recall in the short period of time you have graced us with your presence here at Astatula Elementary, you have reported to my office for breaking the established procedures of this fine institution. Therefore, Cody, is a third application of Big Bertha required to get the message through your mule thick, stubborn, blond head?"
"Tete de mule?" Cody whispered under his breath.
Mr. Miller did not realize Cody spoke a little bit of French. The boy tried not to laugh out loud. He knew the disrespect would increase his delicate situation with the principal. Cody also knew Big Bertha was sixteen inches long, made of ash, and employed in the hands of skilled artisan like Mr. Miller, the lady packed a wallop.
Quickly, he changed his tune, recomposed himself, and responded, "No sir, Mr. Miller."
The principal replied, "Then, this is the very last warning you will receive in this regard. From now on see to it that you walk slowly in the halls of my school. You will not be told again!"
Cody appreciated the fact Mr. Miller was a man of his word.
"Will do," he promised the principal.
After the confrontation concluded, Cody walked away...until he disappeared from Mr. Miller's line of vision. Once outside in the bright sunlight, he snatched his blue BMX Mongoose off the bike rack and mounted the two-wheeler. With his report card stuffed into the right hip pocket of his jeans, Cody eagerly anticipated the newfound freedom Summer brought. He would never forget the way his elementary school days ended.
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of this remarkable picture that has provided Cody such an easily recognizable face on FanStory. |
By Brett Matthew West
Living together like spokes inside a wheel the entire population of Astatula consisted of 308 residents. Among them were wackos and weirdos, and dingbats, and do-dos, and athletes. Leather and lace and some of the minority race. And, of course, we can't forget about the paupers, and punks, and the farmers, too. After all, sodbusters are the backbone of this country.
This population explosion did not include the family of skunks that lived in Gwendolyn Hollow three miles south of Astatula on Highway 62.
"Let me tell you, a tomato juice bath doesn't help much with the odiferous scent that lingers after a skunk unleashes its primary weapon," Sheriff Daniels once explained to me as he steered his cruiser past the skunk's home.
Trying to see the black critters with white stripes down their backs, I looked out the window of the car but did not observe them.
"The combination of sulfur and hydrogen is the main deterrent to a skunk's enemies," the Sheriff continued.
Then, he told me about the Sheriff Department's K-9, Jasper. The dog had learned that lesson the hard way before I arrived in Astatula. I was glad I wasn't around to find out how. Phew!
Some of the locals alleged I possessed a charismatic smile. At least, those who thought they knew me did. Others contended I presented a boy next door personality. To them, I was a little charmer. However, wholesome and shy are not adjectives I would ever have used to describe myself.
Granted, after what I'd survived at the hands of Earl Anthony Schroder in Palo Pinto, I thought I was ten feet tall and bulletproof. But, there never was a yellow "S" on my red cape. And, try as hard as I may, I never could leap tall buildings in a single bound. So, I guess I left something to be desired in the Superboy department.
Isn't it incredible how life brings you back to reality and turns cold on you? In the grand scheme of things, creation becomes impervious to your feelings. The wind growls. And, life doesn't always go your way.
It was the celebrity trichologist Philip Kingsley who famously coined the phrase, "Bad hair day."
All I can is, "At times like that, break out the Suave shampoo. I prefer the Wild Cherry Blossom fragrance myself."
Okay, I admit that was a weak attempt at humor. The problem remained there was nothing funny about the situation I was in. I do not know what came over me or why I started a fight with Matt. Perhaps, I hated to lose the race, or maybe it was a weak moment caused by my upbringing in Palo Pinto? Either way, I couldn't undo the wrong I committed. I really was trying to turn my life around in Astatula. The melee made me realize I had a long row to hoe to get there.
As I approached the house, a red-tailed hawk circled overhead. I caught sight of the bird out of the corner of my eye. Its wingspan must have measured a good three feet across. The hawk probably searched for a ground squirrel, a field mouse, or maybe even a horned lizard. They weren't hard to find in Astatula. The bird of prey cawed loudly and flew away.
A cluster of white, fluffy, cumulous clouds hung low in the sky. Their defined edges indicated, weather-wise, the afternoon would be fair. This was a welcome improvement over the oppressive heat the Texas Panhandle had recently endured. As long as they didn't darken up we didn't have to worry about rain pelting the ground or the possibility of a tornado.
In a rage, I stormed through the front door of the house and trudged up the frieze-carpeted circular stairway leading to my bedroom. Sheriff Daniels had specifically chosen this type of resilient, soft, and springy carpeting for the stairs. It was oatmeal-colored with black and brown specks. I made sure I stomped hard on each step as I went along my way. The notion "life wasn't fair!" ran through my mind.
Shortly after I moved in with the Sheriff, I'd asked him, "Why did you carpet the stairs when you built your house?"
He told me, "Because the carpeting hides the footprints of a certain blond munchkin who constantly runs up and down the stairs all day long with no shoes on his bare feet dragging a trail of dirt behind him."
At the top of the landing, I flung open my bedroom door. The force with which I did so banged the brass doorknob on the back side of the door loudly against the wall behind it. A sonic boom resounded throughout the room. I did not care if the Sheriff heard the noise I made, and could not see how that was avoidable. Nor did I care if I got in more trouble for doing so. My meltdown had just begun.
Brusquely, I snatched a white bath towel off the wolf-imprinted spread that covered my bed. I told you I liked wolves. With a basketball shot, I tossed the towel into the rectangular-shaped laundry basket in the far corner of my bedroom.
I threw my hands high in the air and said, "Score!"
I'd left the towel laying on my bed that morning after taking a shower, and before I blew out of the house almost late for school again. No big fan of the classroom, this became an all-too-familiar habit for me. I flung my schoolbag beside the laundry basket.
My bedroom was my private sanctuary. It sure beat the pallet I spread I on the floor to sleep on in Palo Pinto. Soon, my haven would also be the place Sheriff Daniels meted out the consequences for my inappropriate behaviors. This was the first time in the month I'd been with him this event came to be. Enduring a paddling was nothing new to me. I had been. Ever since I could remember. Except they weren't exactly paddlings. They were a whole lot worse! Let me take you back to another little piece of my life in Palo Pinto and give you a small taste of where I came from. I'll warn you though, it's not a pretty picture.
As I spoke these words, the friends I talked to who sat with me on the rooftop deck of the Blind Pig Pub in Austin, became all ears. I knew they were curious because they didn't know any of what I was about to divulge.
You see, I never knew my mother. Evelyn Margaret Madison did not take Earl Anthony Schroder's last name upon their sham of a marriage. They were united in a "Wham! Bam! Thank you ma'am!" short-lived wedlock of convenience. The matrimony occurred only because I'd come on the scene completely unexpected, and my mother wanted to save face. All she ever cared about were the popular Spring Break parties the Gulf Coast was world famous for.
Earl Anthony Schroder once described those festive occasions to me as nothing more than, "Everybody getting high as a kite and soaring through the stratosphere wherever the wonder weed carried them."
His comment never made me stop asking why my mother abandoned me.
"Alcohol flowed freely at these events as well," or so Earl Anthony Schroder also mentioned.
I never believed most of what he claimed, with very good reason.
Perhaps what I least understood about the whole situation was when Earl Anthony Schroder told me, "All that mattered to your mother was the psychedelic world of the hard drugs she found including her four best friends: meth, crack, heroin, and cocaine."
To re-emphasize his point more precisely Earl Anthony Schroder warned me in no uncertain terms, "It is what it is, so leave it alone or I'll beat the living Hell out of you!"
I was careful never to bring the subject up to him again after that because he would have carried out his threat. He did, on many instances, for the littlest mistakes I made. Although it did very little to prevent beatings, I walked gingerly on eggshells around him. Too often they cracked, and like a bull in a china shop, a battering followed.
I noticed the flabbergasted looks on my friends faces. They had no idea what to say. So, I continued detailing this portion of my life. I told them I knew my mother was completely absorbed in the druggie lifestyle she chose shortly after August 12, 2000. That was the day Pediatrician Doctor Robert Lamfort swatted my newborn behind in the parking lot of the Palo Pinto Bowling Alley on Blake Street and declared me alive. I reflected a moment.
"Alive?" I asked myself.
Then, I answered me with, "If that is what you could call life with Earl Anthony Schroder."
Yes, things went dramatically from bad to worse in that department. Before I relived that nightmare, I needed and ordered another drink. My third one of the night. Talking about these things had never been easy for me to do.
Matt reached out his hand and placed it on my shoulder. "You okay?" he asked me.
I looked back at him with an expression that told him I was. The honest truth remained, was I? Looking down, I watched heavy traffic pass on the busy street below our perch. When I glanced back up, a shooting star appeared from out of nowhere. As it flew by, the streak of light illuminated the deep purple Texas sky.
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by lilibug6, chosen to compliment my story.
So, thanks lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Aloha! My name is Brock Daniels. Although you have read about me in three of the first four chapters of this book, I have not had an opportunity to formally introduce myself to you. Quite to my surprise, I am Cody Schroder's guardian, friend, confidant, and much more.
I do not say that with any negative connotations. Kids are cute to look at. They are even fun to play with. But, for Pete's sake, let them go home with someone else. I never thought I would ever have another rug-rat terrorizing my humble adobe. Certainly not one I did not beget. And, definitely not after my only offspring died from Meningitis when he was six months old. I believe Beth Sorenson told you his name was Tyler. Tyler Wyatt Daniels, to be exact.
Eight years have passed since that fateful day. However, it might as well have been a million years ago. Truth is losing a child is the kind of pain a parent never gets over. Not a day goes by that I do not remember my son.
After all this time, I still keep his bedroom a memorial full of his pictures, favorite stuffed animals, and, yes, even his medical records and the notice of his death. Morbid? I do not believe so. For all this time it has been me and my memories in peace in a place I call Country Comfort.
I must admit Cody is a wide-eyed monster, and a sponge. He absorbs everything. And, I say that in an affectionate manner. He keeps the place lively. I guess even a young, budding, Television Personality has certain entertainment obligations to fulfill. Most Saturdays are spent with his friends chilling out and doing what his generation does.
Cody is an easily recognized entity. What he really wants to be though is a regular 10-year-old boy. Something his new found fame will not allow him to be. And, that's okay as he is coming to learn with each passing day. And, me? I can not imagine my life without my Little Man in it. It's never boring. That's for sure.
As time went by, and Cody grew into more recognition as the Silent Partners Kid, the three People's Choice Awards, two Oscars, and seven Emmys he, and our television show, won eventually made him Hollywood's Leading Young Actor.
But, we are getting Light Years ahead of ourselves here. So, let's slow down a mite, and tell you how I became Cody's guardian, at a much more relaxed pace. We can do it!
Beth and I were on retreat outside the Vegas Strip at one of our most favorite destinations. After her luncheon with Donna Anderson, and other associates, I could tell something was on her mind, in a very big way.
Therefore, a week's getaway was in order. We travel freely as often as our hectic schedules will allow. And, since the TV series we had been planning to film fell through the cracks, we both could use some down time to recharge our batteries.
We decided my powder-blue Z28 Camaro would suffice for this little excursion. Blaring Merle Haggard's Classic tune "Footlights" on the CD player in the vehicle, we departed Lost Angels, as I prefer to call LA, and headed east. Nice to be able to get up and go. At least, we think so.
The Vegas Strip is aglow 24 hours a day. Our stopping point was the Tropicana. We would check-in to our master suite, the one they always reserve for us. Play some slots and retire for a relaxing evening of what we had been doing for the four glorious years Beth Sorenson and I have been romantically entertaining ourselves with each other. Nothing else I know of eliminates stress better than being wrapped tightly in the arms of love.
And, love Beth Sorenson I do. From the top of her auburn mane to her pretty little pink toenails. There is nothing I would not do for her. Beth was well versed in pleasing this man, especially on a hot afternoon. She did too. Until she dropped the bomb that exploded with a supersonic BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! The crescendoing echo louder as the words spilled out of her sweet-tasting mouth.
Beth sat up in bed. She pulled the sheet up over her breasts and gave me her patented, "I won't take no for an answer" look she is world famous for.
"Beth, do you have any idea what you are asking me to do" I wanted to know.
"Brock, I've known you since before dirt was invented, and I am asking you to do the right thing for you, as well as for Cody Schroder," Beth told me.
"Beth, you know I am 150 thousand percent behind Silent Partners," I gently reminded her, "but, you are asking me to foster a boy I do not even know."
"Brock, Silent Partners is a career-defining role, and no one deserves that more than you," Beth assured me unhesitatingly. Then she wondered, "How much trouble can one 10-year-old orphan boy be?"
I do not know what came over me. Either stars got in my eyes, or rocks got in my head, but, I knew how important Silent Partners was to Beth. The concept consumed her whole heart and soul. Still, I was not sold on the fact of fostering a boy I knew nothing about. Particularly one who had endured so much crisis in his life as this Cody Schroder apparently had experienced.
"Besides, Sweetheart," I said laying back on the oversized bed, "the boy obviously has no acting experience at all. Do you really want to place all your eggs in that basket?"
"Brock, who better to teach him the ropes than you?" Beth replied. And, I could see there would be no changing her mind about this subject. Then she informed me, "He's staying at the Oak Crest Boys Ranch in Mendocino. We meet him, and Judge Brownstone, in his chambers at nine o'clock Monday morning so you can sign the papers."
"Well, you have obviously done your homework," I thought to myself but did not vocalize the comment.
Hearing Beth's announcement, instead I glanced at her in amazement that she had cooked the entire recipe before approaching me about the subject.
Beth reached over and took my hand. She pulled me down on top of her and declared, "You won't regret your decision, Cowboy! Not at all."
Cody really did come to Silent Partners just like that. A fish floundering out of the water. Until he got his feet wet. And, he cried a lot. At first. Every time he would forget a line, or err in some minor way, because he thought all of us were going to be mad at him. Which we never were. We bottle-fed him. We cajoled him. We even changed his diapers when need be. He was a fast learner. And, so talented.
Like they say, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.
(We will return after this station break.)
| Author Notes |
The Strip at Night, by drmerlin, chosen to compliment this part of my story.
So, thanks drmerlin for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Cast of Characters:
Cody Schroder - main character of the book
Brock Daniels - Sheriff of Astatula and Cody's guardian
Matt Cochran - Cody's best friend
Dale Earnhardt - world famous stock car racer
Bugs Bunny - cartoon character
Elmer Fudd - arch-nemesis of Bugs Bunny
**************
End of Chapter 4:
After the confrontation concluded, Cody walked away...until he was out of Mr. Miller's line of vision. Once outside in the bright sunlight, he snatched his blue BMX Mongoose off the bike rack and mounted the two-wheeler. With his report card stuffed inside the right hip pocket of his jeans, Cody eagerly anticipated the newfound freedom Summer brought. He would never forget the way his elementary school days ended.
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Palo Pinto had been a nightmare nobody should have to live through. Cody often wondered how he survived that incredulous ordeal? Since he arrived in Astatula, he had a new best friend. His name was Matt Cochran.
Sometimes, Cody called him "MD". On other occasions, he'd make like Bugs Bunny when he chomped on a carrot and asked Elmer Fudd, "What's up, Doc?"
The boys enjoyed watching the antics of "that wascally wabbit" as Elmer Fudd referred to Bugs Bunny. Matt marched to the beat of a different drum. The crazy thing was Cody heard the same one. Not only that, the peas of a pod both liked to color outside of the lines. Neither one of them catered to conforming to established rules. They much preferred to make their own, within the boundaries they were confined in of course.
Matt had attended Astatula Elementary School since he started kindergarten. He thought the school was okay, for a school that is.
He would often jokingly ask, "Prison bars come in all different shapes and sizes, don't they?"
Known to chatter a mile a minute, or at least as fast as he could zip a football, the star-quarterback-in-the-making's emerald green eyes lit up whenever he spoke. They were set deep in his round face. This provided him a kind of balloon-head look, sort of like Charlie Brown of the Peanuts comic strip fame.
Matt got teased a lot about his appearance, especially by Cody. But, to him, it was no big deal. He took most things in stride and knew it was all good-natured badgering. So, most of the time he rolled with the flow. Matt also liked to cut his jet black hair in a Shaggy mop top. Watching Scooby-Doo was one of his favorite pastimes. Since Cody arrived in Astatula, they always hung out together.
Matt stuck his chest out like a puff adder and bragged to anyone listening, "Inseparable companions, that's what Cody and I are."
The boys did have a lot of good times together. Some days they even dressed alike in their blue jeans, pullovers, and Puma Smash Leather sneakers. To celebrate their final day of 5th grade, they wore white shirts. The kind found at fairs. The words "Crosby County Wildlife Festival," over emblems of Black Bears, were imprinted on the front of them." Cody and Matt wore those tee shirts until they fell apart.
Always very personable, Matt thought Cody was unlike any other boy he'd ever known. His soft corn-silk blond hair, and sea-blue eyes, sparkled. Cody was also more of a loner than Matt had ever encountered before. Matt chalked that up to his friend still getting used to his new life in Astatula.
"I'm sure the tortoise will pop his head out of his shell at any time," Matt commented when others asked him why Cody was so reserved.
Cody had not told Matt much about his past, only tidbits here and there. He couldn't recall many pleasant memories so he kept most of those secrets bottled up way down deep inside himself. Eventually, they would all come spilling out. The whole nine yards. When they did, Cody's past did not scare Matt off. He thought it might. In fact, it seemed to draw them closer together.
The boys left the school in the distance and flew up Mountain View Drive. Cottonwood trees lined both sides of the residential street. They turned east on Forsythe Avenue and passed a cluster of majestic junipers. This brought them by the Dowd ranch, and its fenced pasture full of Black Angus. At least two hundred head grazed there. The aroma of fresh cow pies in their olfactories unplugged their sinuses and made their eyes water. After they cleared the farm, they darted into their Sherwood Forest neighborhood.
Neck-in-neck the boys dashed down Maid Marion Lane, like Dale Earnhardt at the Daytona 500, to see who would get to Cody's house first. They moved like slick winter winds. Their breathing grew heavier the faster they pedaled. Just boys being boys. That's all they were doing.
Hand-built by Sheriff Daniels, 1313, the house Cody lived in, was a red brick Contemporary structure that sat right smack dab in the middle of a cul-de-sac. Or more properly stated, the property consumed the entire cul-de-sac. Matt had known the sheriff his entire life. He'd been in the Delivery Room when Matt was born.
Matt also lived two houses down the street from Cody. That made getting together much easier and afforded them more time to do fun things together. As soon as they reached their destination, the trouble between them started.
Without putting the kickstand down, Cody leapt off his bike< He allowed the Mongoose to fall on the well-manicured, green fescue grass. He jumped on Matt before he could dismount his red bicycle, with its silver streamers hanging off the handlebars.
Angry, Cody stated, "You cheated to win!"
Surprised by Cody's attack, Matt replied, "Did not! I beat you fair and square. You're a sore loser!"
Cody took noticeable exception to Matt's ribbing and challenged him with, "Don't start something you can't finish, alligator!"
In a confrontational tone, Matt responded, "I can finish you, lion!"
Cody heard the word as "liar" and the battle raged!
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment all my Cody Schroder writings.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your incredible picture. It goes so nicely with all my Cody Schroder writings and has provided Cody an easily recognizable face here on FanStory. |
By Brett Matthew West
Cast of Characters:
Cody Schroder - main character of the book
Brock Daniels - Sheriff of Astatula and Cody's guardian
Beth Sorensen - Sheriff Daniels' confidant
Buzz Cochran - Sheriff Daniels' boon companion and campaign director
Astatula Assassin - deranged madman terrorizing the small town
******************
End of Chapter 5:
Without putting the kickstand down, Cody leapt off his bike. He allowed the Mongoose to fall on the well-manicured, green fescue grass. He jumped on Matt before he could dismount his red bicycle with its silver streamers hanging off the handlebars.
Angry, Cody stated, "You cheated to win!"
Surprised by Cody's attack, Matt replied, "I did not! I beat you fair and square. You're a sore loser!"
Cody took noticeable exception to Matt's ribbing and challenged him with, "Don't start something you can't finish, alligator!"
In a confrontational tone, Matt responded, "I can finish you lion!"
Cody heard the word as "liar" and the battle raged.
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Cody and Matt tussled in the front yard. Inside the residence, Brock Daniels, Beth Sorensen, and Buzz Cochran discussed the sheriff's re-election strategy over freshly brewed cups of Maxwell House coffee.
The three of them agreed, it was, as they say on their television commercial, "Good to the last drop."
Unbeknown to them all, the extremely well-kept home was being watched. The sight of the red brick rancher made the Astatula Assassin's skin tingle. Enthralled, a chill raced down his spine as he stared at the structure.
On several occasions, he'd been the Sheriff's invited guest. The sheriff totally oblivious of who he let in his home. This time he was not invited. As the Assassin stared across the road disdain filled him. He'd come to murder the sheriff. But, not only the sheriff, Beth Sorensen, and especially that putrid little holy terror the sheriff recently fostered, would croak with him.
The Assassin's eyes flashed from one window to another, and then the next. He observed everything that could be seen. In one eave was a Spiderman kite. Its tail draped over the roof of the house. No doubt, the flying object belonged to Cody. How the Assassin abhorred him!
Three times he surveyed the sheriff as he shuffled past the living room window. Three times the Assassin ached to withdraw his weapon and open fire. BAM! BAM! BAM! No more sheriff. He couldn't wait. Surely his true aim would end the meaningless life of the lawman.
Finally, the Assassin advanced across the street. Nothing blew in the wind. No sounds echoed, not even the chirp of crickets. Carefully, he made his way to a door in the middle of the back of the house. A Master Lock secured the screen door. Within mere moments, the Assassin popped the lock.
"Did you really think a simple padlock would keep me out, Daniels?" he asked no one in particular, "See how easily I am inside your house?"
The Assassin would not expose himself by switching on any lights. Instead, he used a focused beam flashlite to look around. His hatred fueled, he wanted to learn more secrets about the sheriff and his "family". The laundry room was clean and orderly, like everything else in the sheriff's life. How the Assassin loathed that. His life was so muddled.
He ran his hand over folded laundry Beth had laid out on a wooden table earlier that afternoon. The clothes were still warm to the touch. How entangled the Assassin now felt to the doomed sheriff. He sniffed the aroma of small Jockey underwear. No brown streaks noted. Obviously, the snow-white briefs belonged to Cody. The Assassin loved the excitement this environment produced. He anticipated Cody's demise and plotted how the sheriff would watch him die a slow, agonizing, lingering, death. Maybe he'd pound the boy's heart out of his chest with a sledgehammer just for sheer pleasure!
The Assassin dimmed the flashlight. He sat on the floor and fondled Cody's underwear in the dark devouring the sensation. The blackness engulfed him and made him feel immune to any danger around him. Murder was going to occur again. This was only a dry run. But, soon he'd come back with furious actions to blow everybody's mind. Now, he knew his plan would work.
His hands folded in his lap, the Assassin was well pleased with his accomplishment. He heaved a sigh. His web perfectly knitted. Cody's underwear still in hand, the Assassin used the distraction of the fight between the boys to make his unperceived exit from the residence. Before long the sheriff would be dead. So would the two people he loved the most, especially that damn Cody!
How the Assassin appalled him.
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with all my Cody Schroder stories and has provided Cody an easily recognizable face on FanStory. |
By Brett Matthew West
In the solace of my bedroom, my mind drifted back to Palo Pinto and Earl Anthony Schroder. I knew the consequences I faced for starting a fight with Matt. Sheriff Daniels had made them abundantly clear to me.
In the farthest corners of my mind the hovering chastisement made me wonder if perhaps I was to blame for my mother abandoning me the way she did? It seemed I was always the cause of problems. I was never the solution. I wanted to be good. I really did. I guess it just wasn't inside of me.
Perhaps if I cried less as a newborn that would have changed her perspective and she would have stayed? I'll never know. But, I manifested colic, and displayed all the symptoms including clinched hands, a wrinkled brow, and a flushed face. I even pulled my legs up tight to my stomach while I made my high-pitched wails. Could it be back then I liked to hear myself make noise?
Annoying and overbearing, Earl Anthony Schroder always considered himself to be the "Master of the Lanes". He even refused to go to the hospital when I was born.
From her seat near the snack bar in the Palo Pinto Bowling Alley, my mother gulped Budweiser beer from the Styrofoam cup it was served in and strongly warned him,"The baby is coming out!"
Her lit Marlboro cigarette burned in the ashtray on the table. A thin trail of smoke rings wafted up in the air as she spoke the words. And, she did not mean maybe! Neither did I! But, Earl Anthony Schroder would have none of it.
He steadfastly refused to believe her and barked, "Jiminy Cricket woman! Can't you see I'm bowling?"
She looked back at him with disdain, but did not utter a sound.
"Women and children. I don't know which one is worse!" he grumbled loud enough for all those around them to hear.
He sent his bowling ball rolling down the well-oiled lane...right into the gutter. The barrage of profanity that spewed forth from his mouth would have appalled his femme domme. I could not recall Earl Anthony Schroder ever bowling higher than a 110 game in his life. And, 300 is the top score achievable in the game. Some "Master of the Lanes" he was.
On three separate occasions, Earl Anthony Schroder was involuntarily committed to the psychiatric hospital. Because of two other circumstances, he was institutionalized on the City of Angels Mental Ward in Amarillo. He was a Certified Fruit Cake with more than a couple pieces of the pie missing.
When someone, including complete strangers asked him who I was, he most commonly referred to me as, "The product of an ill-begotten one night fling."
That was his favorite term of endearment. There were many other abysmal names for me he never hesitated using. Not only did he not want his progeny he made no bones about his staunch feelings.
I frequently heard "How utterly worthless a life form I was!"
Doled out daily, the physical, mental, and emotional abuse I suffered at his hands repeatedly left their marks and bruises all over me. Exemplified by an incident I will never forget, one day after taking a shower, I was pinned tightly against the bathroom sink. I could smell the putrid odor of Jack Daniels on Earl Anthony Schroder's fiery hot breath. He repeatedly backhanded my face until it was swollen and scarlet.
Then, he threatened me, "Don't you dare ever, ever cross me again you pious pissant!"
Earl Anthony Schroder's sexual perversions scarred me to the point I felt no attachment to him at all. None. Not a bit. This is tough for me to talk about. It always has been. And, you may want to skip reading this part of my life story. I'll understand. But, when I decided to tell my friends with me at the Blind Pig Pub my history, I couldn't very well leave this portion out, could I?
The sexual abuse I suffered from Earl Anthony Schroder included being inappropriately touched on my vital organ. Several Poloroid pictures were snapped of me undressed. These he passed among his friends for their devious pleasures. But, the worst act of all was when he performed oral service on me.
I watched my friends bottom jaws drop wide open as I told them. Do I feel better? NOPE! What I feel is violated. For the last 1,825 days I resided under Earl Anthony Schroder's roof I wanted to be dead much more than I desired to keep breathing air. Now, I'll ask you, is that any way for a ten year old boy to feel?
Six weeks later, my life changed forever. Earl Anthony Schroder perished in a flaming vehicle crash on Interstate 27. Driving drunk, after another night of bowling, he hydroplaned in a torrential downpour and smashed head-on into an embankment at 93 miles an hour.
"Aw! The poor little baby!" I facetiously sympathized to myself upon hearing the news. What I wanted to scream loud enough for everybody to hear was, "Let's have a party! It's time to celebrate."
There was no grief when I was informed of his dramatic demise. No tears appeared in my baby blues. I simply did not care. Still don't. I did draw three smiley faces on the mirror above the same sink he'd pinned me against for my assault.
Have I told you lately, "There was only one person in my entire life that I truly despised, and his name was Earl Anthony Schroder?"
A bevy of communications, texts, and emails between a menage of people I did not know followed shortly after this event occurred. That's how I found myself in the custody of Sheriff Brock Daniels who was about to impose more punishment on me.
The Sheriff's cellphone rang three times before he answered the call.
"Daniels," he said.
"It's me, Brock. I'm just calling to let you know I arrived safely in Dallas. I also wanted to check in to see how my two favorite men are doing batching it without me," Beth responded.
"Well, one of us is upstairs in his bedroom waiting for me. It seems Little Man decided to get himself into some trouble when he arrived home from school this afternoon," he replied.
"How did he manage to do that?" Beth asked.
"He and Matt raced their bikes home and Cody lost," the Sheriff explained.
"I'm not making the connection here between the boys racing home and Cody getting into trouble when he got there," Beth remarked, "are you telling me that Cody is in trouble for losing the race?"
"What I'm saying Beth, is that Cody lost the race and decided to start a fight with Matt because of it," he replied.
"A fight? With Matt? Are the boys okay?" Beth wanted to know.
"They're fine. Except of course, Cody and I have not discussed the matter as thoroughly as we're about to," he stated.
"The first question Cody would be answering is what made him think he could start a fight with Matt in the first place?" Beth commented.
"I asked him. He couldn't give me a satisfactory answer," the Sheriff replied.
"That doesn't sound much like Cody," Beth responded.
"No, it doesn't," he replied.
"What are you going to do about this, Brock?" she asked.
"We're certainly not going to argue about the situation. All that would do is remove his boundaries," the Sheriff assured her.
"That's true. As you know Cody requires a lot of love, support, and structure to feel secure," she reminded him.
"Oh, I agree, Beth. He also needs to be heard, understood, and respected," the Sheriff responded.
"However, Cody must remember that we have the final say on how he is going to behave. And, fighting is definitely out of the question. That's completely unacceptable behavior from him. So, hear him out, Brock, before you take any actions," she encouraged.
"Yes, I know. Get to the heart of the issue and find out what's really going on inside his blond head," the Sheriff remarked.
"It's important you validate his point of view, Brock. That way, Cody will be more open to discussion," she commented.
"Open conversation also leads to less anger and disappointment. Any way, have a good time in Dallas. I suppose I'd better go attend to this matter with Cody. So, I'll talk to you soon," he told her and disconnected the transmission.
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
No matter how hard I tried, I could not skate around the truth. Instead, I looked out my bedroom window and wondered what the world contained for me? Inside, I knew the result of my actions.
I heard the unmistakable sound of my bedroom door open and watched the Sheriff enter the room. Slowly, he walked across the floor and seated himself on the foot of my bed. When he nodded his head, I understood what that signal meant. There was no avoiding the inevitable.
The cooked goose was destined to immediately extract the thin wooden paddle off the top of the five-drawer mahogany dresser the implement laid on and deliver it to the Sheriff. A touch of dread settled over me. I wondered if being spanked by him was going to be more of the same type of beatings I'd received from Earl Anthony Schroder's wrath?
With the paddle in my right hand, I inhaled the deep nervous breath of a condemned prisoner. I felt the implement's smooth surface and saw the imprinted picture on the wooden plank. It consisted of a deer, a black bear, and red lettering. The implication was obvious. I hoped it wouldn't be the case. I exhaled a languid breath and felt all the air rush out my lungs. There would be no possible way to talk my way out of this predicament, nor would I try.
"Be brave," I told myself as I turned to face the Sheriff.
He remained restrained.
At this point, the server delivered our dinner orders. Her name was Geneveire Tuscalero. She was ebony with soft hair the color of brandy. Gweneveire was also a Pre-Med major. I'd seen her in my Forensics class, on those rare occasions when I actually made my presence known and shown up there. Although the possibility presented itself, we hadn't hooked up yet. She hadn't said yes, but I hadn't said no. I'd never tasted delicious sweet chocolate before. Maybe like Baskin-Robbins did with its ice cream, I'd make her the flavor of the month.
Matt and I selected medium-rare flatiron steaks, we enjoyed the marbled meat. For added flavor, portobello mushroom slices adorned the juicy steaks. Marinated, and pan-fried in a cast iron skillet, the steaks sizzled. This method of preparing the steaks allowed them a crusty outside and a moist middle.
Overstuffed, twice-baked potatoes with sour cream, cheese, and bacon, as well as caramelized broccoli, a deep-fried onion appetizer, and Texas toast completed our meal. I thanked Geneveire for her service and would later pay the check for all of us on my Discover card. A healthy tip included.
I asked, "Does anybody need anything else while our server is here?"
Each one of my guests informed me they were okay. Geneveire departed the table. I cut into my steak and continued my story, "In six short steps, I stood beside the Sheriff. He was nonaggressive. There was no furious haranguing from him. This was a situation I was not accustomed to. In circumstances like this before in my past, these confrontations were full of loud turmoil and Earl Anthony Schroder in a blind rage."
Reluctant, I flipped the paddle around in my outstretched hand. A Wile E. Coyote Band-Aid covered a nasty-looking scratch I'd received that ran the length of my right thumb. I had snagged the pollex on a rusty nail a couple days earlier when I built a backyard fort. Tetanus shot here I come! One good thing about it was I did receive a lollipop from Nurse Brenda Billingsly after getting the injection in my deltoid. It was cherry flavored. Fortunately, no stitches were required.
Appropriately printed on the face of the instrument for all the world to see were the words "Heat For The Seat". The emblem of a burning campfire was emblazoned on its handle.
"Will it match the flame I will soon be feeling?" I softly asked myself.
"I'm waiting," the Sheriff calmly said.
The paddle's handle faced him. It wouldn't be long before the repercussions of fighting with Matt were administered. A stern parental expression crossed the Sheriff's face. This too was a response I was not used to. Not from him, any way. The Sheriff noticed my quizzical gaze as I silently attempted to figure his reaction out but said nothing. He knew I'd sized him up.
I handed the paddle to him. The Sheriff grasped the piece of wood tightly in his calloused right hand. I decided it would be better to just get the unpleasentries over with and submitted to my fate. Reaching up from where he sat on the bed, the Sheriff grabbed hold of my left wrist.
Well composed, he instructed me to, "Get down here where you belong, Little Man."
That had became the Sheriff's pet name for me. I liked being called his "Little Man". However, this time I wasn't so sure.
He pulled me over and positioned me face down across his knee. The palms of my small hands rested flat on the floor on the outside of the Sheriff's knee. The toes of my sneakers barely reached the floor on the other side. In the future, this was one position I tried to avoid. I didn't always succeed.
The Sheriff placed a steadying left hand on the middle of my back to balance me in place. He laid the blade of the paddle on the seat of my blue jeans. In anticipation of what was to come, I drew a deep breath.
"Now, Little Man," he began in an unexpected calm demeanor. "I want you to explain why you started that fight with Matt when you got home from school today and then lied about doing so."
Wasn't that a loaded question? I knew the Sheriff expected an answer. The problem was, I could not give him an honest explanation for my actions. Uncomfortable sitting awaited me.
When he raised the paddle, I tensed. As the imminent approached, I knew what goes up must come down. I held my position the best I could. For a brief moment, my mind raced back to another time and place not so long ago. I'd only lived with the Sheriff for two short weeks when he took his feisty troupe of Volunteer Deputy Cadets on an overnight hike. I was made an Honorary Member of the band of marauders for that expedition.
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by lilibug6, chosen to compliment my story.
So, thanks lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Cast of Characters:
Cody Schroder - main character of the book
Matt Cochran - Cody's best friend
**********************
End of Chapter 6:
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The blond capon drove his shoulder into Matt's stomach.
"Omph!" Matt responded.
The blow extracted some of the wind out Matt's sails. Cody wrapped his arms tightly around Matt's waist in an effort to wrestle him to the ground.
"Let go of me!" Matt loudly insisted.
Cody would never attempt to justify their fisticuffs based on his past life of abuse in Palo Pinto. He knew none of those incidents would ever explain his unprovoked attack on Matt. Perhaps Cody's transgression was he reflected his experiences with Earl Anthony Schroder on someone who did not deserve to suffer those indignations.
Or, maybe Cody didn't know any better ways to handle unwanted situations like losing a bike race home to his best friend. Under the patient guidance and care of Sheriff Brock Daniels he would soon learn. An osprey flew over the boys' heads and released a disturbed, high-pitched squeal as if to tell them to cease their confrontation. Afterwards, the feathered creature soared out of sight.
The youngsters' braggadocious comments were made with their chests puffed out and their heads held high.
"I'm gonna beat you by a mile!" Cody had eartily boasted.
"I'm a-coming! I'm a-coming!" Matt responded.
Matt raised up off the seat of his bicycle and churned his legs faster. Cody had snuck a glance over his right shoulder to spot his adversary's location. There he was. Matt had speedily gained ground on him. His breathing was relaxed while Cody's grew heavier. An ear-to-ear grin crossed the little bulldog's face.
It was a happy smile that told Cody, "I'm gonna win!"
Deep in Cody's heart, he knew Matt would, too. Still, he thought to myself, 'Not if I have anything to say about it, you won't.'
By placing the edge of his bike's front tire on the grass before Cody did, Matt nipped him at the finish line. Like everything else they did together, the boys enjoyed the chase home and that should have been the end of the story: book, chapter, and verse.
However, Cody didn't cater to being the loser. His swagger swiftly dissipated. All of a sudden, two aggressive, diminutive grouses locked horns in mortal combat as soon as Cody yanked Matt off his bike.
"What are you doing?" a surprised Matt demanded. He had not expected Cody to pounce on him.
Freeing himself, the boys engaged in their fight. Matt threw a solid right jab. The punch landed flush on Cody's nose.
"Ouch!" Cody yelped. He grabbed his nose with both of his hands.
A slow trickle of blood dripped from his nose from where Matt clobbered him a good one. In return, Cody kicked Matt in the knee with the toe of his sneaker. Matt grimaced and grabbed his knee. The jolt from Cody's blow hurt and made him hop around on one leg for a moment.
Undeterred, he challenged Cody, "You wanna fight? Come on! Bring it! I ain't afraid of you!"
Cody bucked up and replied, "I'm not scared of you either! And, it's going to take a lot more than talk to get me off of you!"
A small contusion appeared on Matt's right cheek. It'd received a blow from Cody's forearm when he pulled Matt off his bike. The bruise quickly dissolved into a multi-colored rainbow of red, blue, yellow, and green. However, the skin did not break. Full of themselves, they continued their tussle.
Sheriff Daniels kept a brown wooden rocker on the front porch of his house he enjoyed sitting in. From his perch he could see the full length of Cassandra Boulevard and most of Astatula. Peonies planted in the ground in front of the wooden porch railing emitted the sweet aroma of nectar. The peonies were one of Beth's feminine touches.
Hickory trees, that produced yellow-green catkins and oval nuts in the springtime, decorated the lawn. Sheriff Daniels often burned their hard, dense, wood in the fireplace inside the house. Here, in his rocking chair on the front porch, he found peace and quiet. That was until Matt and I arrived home and our fight caught his immediate attention.
Consumed in our actions, we had not noticed the Sheriff and Buzz Cochran on the porch. They nibbled on a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Beth had baked them that morning before she departed to visit her cousin Erma Meyers in Dallas.
Their edges were crispy, and small morsels of sweetened chocolate provided their chewy middles. Chopped walnuts accentuated their flavor. The Sheriff had saved a couple for Matt and I when we arrived home from school. Come to think about it, we never did get our cookies that day.
Why? Because our agitated disturbance brought the Sheriff and Buzz Cochran on the run to the cloud of dust we raised. They reached down, each grabbed ahold of their responsible charge and pulled us to our feet. Then, they separated their animated prepubescents.
Now, Matt and I laugh about this incident. Back when these events occurred, they weren't so hilarious. As we sat at the table in the Blind Pig Pub with our friends, who were engrossed in what we told them, we looked at one another. Both of us could hear those same thunderous words we heard that fateful day not so long ago. Particularly the consequences of our actions. Especially mine.
Buzz was the first to speak.
"What in tarnation do you two little primates think you're doing?" he demanded.
The authority in his voice rang clear. Icily, he stared Matt in the face as he spoke the words.
"Cody started the fight, Dad," Matt tried to explain.
Intransigent, and not about to abandon or compromise my recalcitrant attitude, I vehemently denied Matt's accusation, "Did not!"
Just as assertive, Matt responded, "You did, too! All I did was defend myself from your assault."
"Both of you stop arguing immediately! What's gotten into you anyway? You know better than to fight, especially with each other. And, on top of all that, I heard every word you said," Sheriff Daniels stated.
"We raced home to see who could get here first, and I won. Then, Cody jumped off his bike and bushwhacked me for no reason calling me a cheater," Matt said.
I brushed the dirt off the front of my shirt with my hands and wrangled to free myself from the tight grip Sheriff Daniels had on me. My struggles were fruitless. I wasn't going anywhere.
"You're the one who started the fight," I said, "you called me a liar."
"I did not. I called you a lion," Matt replied.
"That's enough from both of you. I just told you to stop your arguing," Sheriff Daniels exhorted.
His tone told us we'd better listen. Instantly, our squabble ceased.
"Neither one of you should ever call the other one by anything except your given names of Matt and Cody," the Sheriff told us.
Buzz cleaned the blood from Matt's nose with a folded handkerchief he removed from his shirt pocket.
As he wiped away the blood, he calmly asked Matt, "You two are supposed to be best friends, young man. And, I don't care what this fight was about. The rule is no fighting and you broke that rule. You do know what the consequences for breaking that rule are, do you not?"
Matt glumly stared down at the grass between his sneakers. All of a sudden this fun afternoon wasn't turning out to be so enjoyable. First, I'd swerved on him. Now he was in for a very sore bottom for fighting too. His shoulders sagged.
"Yes, sir," he replied.
I thought Matt would try to talk his way out of what awaited him, but he did not whimper about it.
"Home! Now! We will finish this conversation when we get there," Buzz told him.
Matt glanced at me.
"See what you did with your stupid act?" he asked, "You got us both in big time T-R-O-U-B-L-E! You happy?"
My eyes turned away from Matt. I did not respond. Matt picked his bike up from where it had fallen on the ground when I pulled him off of it and slowly trudged towards home. Buzz followed, one step behind him all the way.
Then, it was my turn. I knew it all too well.
"I'm very disappointed in your behavior Cody. I can not believe you would start a fight with Matt over some incidental bike race," Sheriff Daniels began.
"Disappointed". The word stung like a poked hornet's nest and was all the Sheriff had to say to deflate my countenance. I looked back at him but did not offer an explanation for my unacceptable conduct. Slowly, he shook his head in disbelief of the whole situation.
"Inside. Straight to your bedroom, Little Man. We will finish this conversation with you over my knee, where you will explain to me in minute detail the errors of your ways. Do you understand me?" he parentally asked.
"Yes, sir," I respectfully responded.
I snatched my wolf-imprinted schoolbag off the handlebars of my bike. Wolves reminded me so much of myself and had always been my most favorite animals. I left the two-wheeler where it laid and headed for the house and my bedroom.
That's when I heard the Sheriff utter words I will never forget, "I most certainly do not look forward to doing this, Cody. But, whether we like it or not, warming the seat of your jeans for starting this altercation, and then lying to me about it, is something we must attend to."
I knew there was only one way out of this pickle I'd entrapped myself into, and it wasn't going to be pleasant.
| Author Notes |
This is Ethan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
(NOTE: Although this was originally submitted as a contest entry, that event has come and gone. I am now including this chapter in my book where it properly belongs.)
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My favorite buntings have always been robust with bright red crests. Permanent residents of Crosby County, these conical-billed songbirds provided melodic chirps and loud, clear whistles. We watched them feast on crickets in our backyard. They also banqueted on the cracked corn we fed our free-ranged chickens.
We'd often discover the cardinals' nests in the glandulosas that ran along the edge of the woods behind our house. One of my chores was to make sure their assorted feeders were maintained and well stocked. We had thirteen of them scattered around the property.
Most mornings, the rooster's crow woke me from a deep slumber. I'd flop over on my belly and pull my pillow tight over my head. The headrest was soft with feather down. Soon after, the Sheriff would enter my bedroom and shake my shoulder.
"Rise and shine, Little Man. Time to get the day started," he'd tell me.
Usually, I uttered an inaudible response. That led to another gentle shake. Sometimes those cobwebs just didn't want to leave my sleepy head.
"Let's go. Put your feet on the floor. You can do it! There's lots of good things to do today," the Sheriff encouraged me, "besides, Beth's got your breakfast waiting downstairs and you don't want to miss out on that do you?"
At that point, I'd throw the covers off and sit up on my bed. I'd rub the sleep out of my tired eyes, and stretch. Then, I'd yawn long and hard.
"Brush your hair. Wash your hands and come down to the table," the Sheriff told me as he departed my room.
Scrambled eggs, pancakes, and Cheerios were standard fare in the Daniels' house. So were fresh milk, right out of the cow of course, bacon, and sausage links. But, I wouldn't eat grits no matter how they were concocted. And, I about consumed my weight in groceries, too.
"A growing boy has to pack on some pounds for those long winter days," was all the Sheriff commented about that subject.
In Palo Pinto, under Earl Anthony Schroder's roof, meals could be scarce to come by. There were plenty of days when I did without any nourishment at all while he ate to his heart's content. I came to accept this lack of eating as a part of the abuse he doled out.
After breakfast ended, and the dirty dishes were cleared from the table, Beth loaded them into the Amana dishwasher. Barefooted, as I was prone to be, I headed out the back door, where I made my way to the garden shed. With the key I'd snatched off the hook on the wall by the back door as I departed the house, I unlocked and entered the shed.
I walked over to the shelf that held the plastic Cool-Whip container full of sunflower seeds and removed the lid. The canister sat next to a five-pound Maxwell House Coffee can full of assorted nuts, bolts, screws, washers, and who knows what? I noticed part of the dirty blue label had been peeled off the tin can so that it actually read, "Maxwell Hou." Underneath that was, "Cof". I figured the can was at least as old as I was.
I picked the bowl of seeds up, went back outside, and fed the cardinals. Now, the Sheriff and I could depart on our overnight hike. I eagerly anticipated the fun weekend we'd spend together.
My task accomplished, I placed the container back on the shelf and recapped the lid. That was when I made my way back outside and locked the shed door behind me. Afterwards, I entered the house, rehung the key back on the hook where it belonged, and headed upstairs to my bedroom to change out of my pajamas.
"A boy's chores are never done," I grumbled to the Sheriff on my way up.
"I could find plenty more of them to keep you well occupied, Little Man, if that's what you want," he returned, "now, go get yourself ready so we can leave."
"On my way," I enthusiastically told him.
Upon our arrival at the campsite, I beamed to Matt, "This is the very best day ever!"
I'd never been on a hike, or an overnight campout, before.
In a sing-song voice, Matt replied, "Happity, happity, horsecrap. Ain't we having fun now?"
That was so out of character for him to say. His remark made us both guffaw. I knew there was a reason I liked this wisecracker. He was just like me.
"You two better cut the idle chatter and pay closer attention to the trail. Matt, you've been on it before. You know how much steeper it descends," the Sheriff cautioned us.
We wiped the smiles off our faces with the palms of our hands and trudged forward. Our personalities meshed. I was the boisterous one. He, the more reserved.
Matt was the one I liked to watch scary movies with. You know, turn the lights down low, snack on hot buttered popcorn, and have the bejeebers scared out of you. Or, we might just listen to music and talk about any countless number of things boys are age talked about.
What was it Sheriff Daniels had told us? "Just because the water is calm don't think there are no alligators swimming around under the surface."
That was the Sheriff's way of reminding his charges, and especially me, that danger can lurk in every situation and to always use caution in all our endeavors. This was sage advice. Too bad this ten-year-old almost always had to learn life's lessons the hard way.
A fun-filled morning occupied our time. We gathered firewood, built a campfire, and cooked beany-weenies over an open flame, just like the cowboys of the Old West. Most of us emulated them. Sold under the Van Camp label, beany-weenies were a conglomeration of hot dogs, brown sugar, onion, mustard, and baked beans.
I noticed the Sheriff's eyebrows raised when I told other boys in my vicinity, "There once was a genie, with a ten foot weenie, who went to the girl next door. She thought it was a snake, and whacked it with a rake. Now, it's a two-by-four."
His silent expression was a look of, "Oh no he didn't just say that."
Oh yes he did. I don't know what possessed me to make such a proclamation. Maybe, being the new kid on the block, I was just trying to fit in with the other boys. I had plenty more I could tell them, too.
"That's a good one, Cody," Jerry Moriarty responded.
He laughed so hard he almost dropped his tray of food in the dirt beside the fire heating the pot of beans.
"What do you call a hot dog with nothing inside it?" Tyler Hendricks asked. He answered himself with, "A hollow weenie."
"Not funny, Tyler," Jerry responded.
"Okay, boys, cease the hot dog jokes and eat your meals," the Sheriff interjected.
Without another word said, we separated to the redwood picnic tables to eat our lunches.
"Your joke was hilarious, Cody," Matt told me with an expanded smile.
We laughed heartily.
Our bellies full, we held gold mining pans in our hands and tried our luck hunting for riches. Later, we scavenged for arrowheads from the Caddo Indians who once roamed the prairie. Small trinkets were our rewards. To this day, I still retain an arrowhead I found on this expedition.
Most of the afternoon was given to trail hiking and rock climbing. Held monthly, Sheriff Daniels' popular overnight getaways for boys were always chocked full of energetic events. Once again, I was horse-playing with a couple troop mates instead of paying attention to the dirt path as the Sheriff instructed us to do. I tripped over a rut I did not notice along the trail and stumbled.
My carelessness caused me to fall hard to the ground and come to a rolling stop at the bottom of an inclined hill. For a stunned moment, I rested on my laurels. If I could have cried, I would have, but I could not. I'd knocked the wind out of myself when I crash landed.
Some of the other boys snickered until the Sheriff heard them. He quickly admonished their unruly behavior. Embarrassed by the good-natured teasing of my comrades, I attempted to rise to my feet and felt a sharp, stabbing pain in my right ankle. I could not bear weight on my leg and would need assistance reaching the far away campsite. Sheriff Daniels slid down the slope to where I was. In his hand he held a branch to be used as a crutch. Reaching me, the Sheriff conducted a quick survey of my condition.
"I'm okay," I bravely told him, "it's just my ankle. I twisted it falling down the hill."
"How many times have I warned you about horse-playing when you should be a lot more careful about what you are doing, Little Mister Personality?" the Sheriff chided me.
"At least a hundred gazillion times. And maybe a whole lot more than that too," I admitted.
"That's about a thousand times too many Little Man," the Sheriff replied, "but, now, maybe you'll get the message through that mule-thick stubborn blond head of yours."
"Yes, sir. I get the message loud and clear," I responded. Then, I apologized for my carelessness, saying, "I'm sorry."
The Sheriff shook his head in disbelief and stated, "This is what happens when you don't listen to what I tell you out here, Cody."
"Yes sir," I answered.
"Let's go, Sunshine," he told me.
The Sheriff led me back up to the trail. Suddenly, we spotted a large rattlesnake. I heard the reptile's warning noise as we exited the ravine. But, I digress from what I was telling you earlier. So, back to my bedroom, and facing the consequences of starting the fight with Matt, I must go down the road less traveled.
(Note: To grasp this ending, you'll have to either be familiar with Chapter 7: Consequences or read that particular chapter.)
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Sent to his bedroom to await the consequences of starting a fight with Matt, Cody's mind reflected on Earl Anthony Schroder, the only person in his entire life he could honestly and truly state he hated. Cody considered Earl Anthony Schroder nothing more than his biological sperm donor. If he could find a way around that abysmal fact and change it, he would.
My fierce hostility for Earl Anthony Schroder derived from the anger I felt every time I was injured, starved, sexually assaulted, or worse by the one person who was destined to be my sole caregiver for the first ten years of my life.
He was supposed to be my father. My father? Don't make me laugh! What type of father would do those sorts of terrible things to his own flesh and blood?
There is a well known expression that claimed, "Any man can be a father. Not every man can be a Dad."
Those words ring so true. To be a father all a man has to do is propagate with a woman. In, out, and the act is completed. I assure you that is all the credit I am forced to give Earl Anthony Schroder. If I could find a way to eliminate that fact about him, I would have...a very long time ago.
Let's talk about daily caloric intake. What daily caloric intake? Most of the time under Earl Anthony Schroder's roof the only caloric intake I consumed was what I filched out of the Amana behind his back. This always resulted in being knocked across the room and a comment such as: "What a complete waste of my good food" hurled at me.
Meanwhile, that same refrigerator was always well stocked with alcohol, usually Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and cheap Sutter Home strawberry wine. Please don't try to justify Earl Anthony Schroder's actions as him being a drunk. That charcteristic can not be disputed. However, I have heard the comment too many times to count and it simply does not hold water.
August 11, 2008. That is a day I will never forget. There are plenty more of them. I stood at the cracked porcelain sink in Earl Anthony Schroder's trailer washing his dirty dinner dishes. Once again, I'd done without supper. The housework was my responsibility. All of it. Or, at least, he thought it was. To him, that was a fair trade merely for my presence in his home. I accidentally splashed a small puddle of soapy water on the floor at my feet. That set the roaring ogre off!
"What the hell do you think you're doing, you filthy slacker!" he bellowed at me. "That water cost me hard-earned money you know. I'll collect every cent of it out of your hide!"
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'll clean the mess up right away," I nervously replied.
I reached over and pulled a paper towel off the roll that sat on the chipped countertop, bent down, and quickly wiped the water up off the floor.
That wasn't fast enough for him. He grabbed me by the arm and flung me into the living room. Physical assaults were a vaunted part of his arsenal. A hard slap across the face sent me sailing right through the screen door of his trailer. The door slammed closed behind me with a loud bang.
The dilapidated single-wide was hidden deep in the woods. Earl Anthony Schroder wanted no one to witness the atrocities that occurred inside his mobile home. Muddy roads. Muddy feet. I didn't live on no blacktopped street.
I landed with a thud in the sugar sand that surrounded the property. It wasn't much, except an eyesore. A rusted out Ford Fairlane stood on cement blocks. All four tires were long missing. A variety of weeds grew up in the backyard. Some as tall as I was. The leaves of the plantain were oval with distinct parallel veins. Their taps entrenched deep in the Texas prairie and easily tolerated being trampled upon. Goosegrass compacted the soil. Then, there was purslane. This cultivated from several sources and rapidly spread out of control.
Earl Anthony Schroder's trailer was green and white, with a tin roof that leaked during rainfalls. Although I squashed everyone of them I saw, cockroaches were frequent uninvited guests. Dipped in chocolate, they were a delicacy for Earl Anthony Schroder.
"Pure protein," he'd brag then pop one into his mouth, chew it up, and swallow the insect.
Commonly, because they had the audacity to trespass on his property, feral cats became target practice for Earl Anthony Schroder's .22 rifle. Afterwards, I was forced to dispose of their remains. I'd pick them up on a shovel and toss their carcasses into the creek that flowed by the woods while he delighted in his accomplishments.
"Hell, the wild critters around here have to eat, too," he told me.
Squalor filled the inside of the trailer. Beer cans piled up in mounds in all rooms, except the small corner sleeping space I was permitted. My bed was a blanket on the floor. No pillow allowed.
How did Earl Anthony Schroder escape the things he did? Why, I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of that subject yet. One way he accomplished this feat was he never permitted company.
"Out of sight. Out of mind," he'd say.
No one was ever any wiser to what transpired. However, feral cats weren't the only ones who lived in fear of Earl Anthony Schroder's wrath. Several times he pointed his loaded rifle at me. I never knew if he'd pull the trigger or not. Trembling, I didn't want to find out.
I quickly learned to mask the fear, because like a frenzied shark in a pool of blood, Earl Anthony Schroder fed on fears and weaknesses in people. And, his antics deteriorated from there.
These situations, and many like them, never allowed me to grow accustomed to feeling safe, wanted, or loved under Earl Anthony Schroder's dictatorship. They also threw the first ten years of my life into a continual tailspin and disconnected me from the outside world, save for school. I attended just clean enough, and regularly enough, for no one to latch on to how my home life was. For fear of retribution, I kept my otherwise big mouth shut.
How I desperately wanted to scream, "Somebody help me!" But, I couldn't.
My constant companions were inadequate emotions. Somehow, my consorts kept me alive during this unspeakable phase of my youth. I know my formative years weren't normal, but I camouflaged the abuse I endured because I never wanted to appear different from all the other kids in Palo Pinto.
I also formed a world in my mind I could escape to. In this charade, I could be anything I wanted to be. I adapted well to survival and my coping tools were acutely defined. In reality, these mechanisms were nothing more than fallacies. My means of continuity.
The back burner of life is where I placed the abuse Earl Anthony Schroder doled out to me. The means to the end suited me when I had nowhere else to turn and I could check out from my world of no hope.
I found false courage to stand up to Earl Anthony Schroder. Doing so resulted in persistently suffering his wrath. But, I couldn't allow that thought to enter my mind. I knew the path led to annihilation. Still, I followed it. Serious abandonment issues plagued me. Delusion ruled Earl Anthony Schroder's realm of existence.
Thunderous rants ran rampant in his trailer. My biggest fear was his next explosion and the fallout that would result. He relished in ripping apart what little self-respect I possessed. I was left dangling on the fringes of life. There was no eradicating the truth. Parental nurturing never happened.
Maybe I was the crazy one. Earl Anthony Schroder told me often enough that I was. Still, I never came to terms with why I had to suffer the hellacious abuse I received at his hands. Word gets around in a small town. Everyone knew the charlatan was dangerous.
| Author Notes |
A look inside the deteriorated relationship I had with Earl Anthony Schroder in Palo Pinto. This was the town I spent the first ten years of my life in hellacious abuse in before I was adopted by Sheriff Brock Daniels in Astatula.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your incredible picture. It has provided Cody an easily recognizable face on FanStory. |
By Brett Matthew West
A pale white canvas underneath my blue jeans. A surrealist in diligent spontaneous creation. And, a lasting impression. All ingredients for rectification of the wrong I'd committed.
Mentally, I returned back to my bedroom from our overnight hike to Caprock Canyons State Park. I especially liked the bison, with their shaggy manes and massive heads, we'd spotted along Lake Theo. The challenging Haynes Ridge Overlook Trail was where I'd twisted my ankle horse-playing with Terry Snyder and George Clovis.
A faint, bright, and sweet scent drifted on the wind through my open bedroom window. The fragrance came from chicory. The woody perennial, with its blue flowers, grew wild in the roadside ditches along Highway 62 that lead out of Astatula.
A health-conscious eater, Beth often said, "Chicory is a good source of beta-carotene. It is also a prebiotic and will stimulate your appetite."
All I knew was she added chicory to her coffee to give it a nutty flavor.
Face down over Sheriff Daniels knee, my eyes cut over to my little green Army men. They were strategically arranged on the top of the decorative Formica table in the far corner of my room. These were the first toys the Sheriff gave me. That made them all the more special to me. My favorites were the ones with flamethrowers, bazookas, and machine guns. Accessories I had for them included helicopters, hovercraft, and fighter jets. However, even they could not help me now.
Monochromatic to create a sense of simplicity, these warriors were dressed in modern military uniforms. Armed with all the latest twentieth century weaponry, they were good for imaginative storytelling. There were strategies to plot, tactics to work out, and nations to save. On top of all that, they taught me how to deploy armies and always won the war. But, the most fun they provided was there was always something to blow up. Ker-boom! I would entertain myself with them for hours at a time.
"Perhaps you did not hear me, Cody. I said I want you to tell me why you started that fight with Matt," the Sheriff sternly stated.
His comment refocused me on the situation at hand. But, I still had no honest explanation why I'd acted the way I did when Matt and I raced our bikes home. My hesitation in answering the Sheriff did not please him, and the first stinging bite was taken out of my backside.
"Ouch! That hurt!" I exclaimed.
Instinctively, I reached my hand back to cover my sit down spot.
"Good. It was supposed to hurt," the Sheriff informed me, saying, " now, move your hand, Cody. You have every bit of this coming. It is a lesson you will never forget. And, I'm still waiting for an answer to my question, young man."
The Sheriff was right. I never did forget this incident. Reluctantly, I dropped my hand back down on the floor. Bite Number Two quickly followed. I felt the sizzle, but no tears ran down my face. I wasn't deliberately being obstinate, I just had no truthful words to say, so I didn't say anything at all.
My silence brought the third swat to what was rapidly becoming a much more tender portion of my lower anatomy. This one firmer than the first two landed. I winced, but did not yelp.
"I don't know why I started a fight with Matt," I told him.
"This is the first time I've seen you behave like a little banshee, and I don't like you acting that way at all," the Sheriff told me. "However, I know what to do to make sure it never happens again. And, I'm going to do just that!" he promised.
The fourth application was applied and I felt my legs dance. I tightly locked the back of my right knee into the front of my left one. And, no, I wasn't doing the cha-cha.
"When I get done with you, you're going to have the sorest tail end in Astatula," the Sheriff vowed.
"Yes, sir," I could hardly vocalize the words. His message was sinking in.
Applied with vigor, and in rapid fire succession, swats five, six, seven, eight, nine, and ten landed precisely where the Sheriff intended for them to. I squirmed more with each bitter count. Still, I did not allow myself the luxury of crying. When it was over, the Sheriff stood me up on my feet.
"You received one swat for each year of your age, and that's enough," he somberly said. Then, he stared me straight in the face and stated, "Hear me loud and clear, there will be no fighting tolerated in this house. You know better than to act like that and I will not accept those types of misbehaviors out of you. Do I make myself perfectly understood, Cody?"
I promised the Sheriff I would not fight anymore. Then, I did something I never did when Earl Anthony Schroder beat me. I apologized for my misbehavior.
"I'm sorry for fighting with Matt. It won't ever happen again," I said as I rubbed the fire out of my tail end.
"I'm glad to hear you tell me that, Cody," was all the Sheriff said, "and, I'm going to hold you to your promise. So, make sure it does not ever happen again."
The Sheriff handed me the paddle and instructed me to, "Go put your paddle back on top of your dresser where it belongs. After that, I want you to go over and sit down at your desk."
I took the paddle from him and intently listened to what he said to me. I looked at the vindicator and wondered how such a thin piece of wood could sting so much?
He continued with, "While you are sitting there you are to think real hard about how you are to properly behave in this house from now on. When you figure that out you can come downstairs."
"Yes, sir," I said.
I hoped this would be the last time the paddle would be employed. The Sheriff doubted it would be. Once again, he was right. Slowly, I strolled over to the dresser and laid the implement back on top of it under his watchful eye.
Suddenly, I sprinted across the room and hugged the Sheriff tight around his waist. I needed reassurance and to know he would give me another chance. Briefly, the sheriff hugged me back.
That's when I heard him say, "I did not enjoy any part of what just happened here, Cody. So, make sure we don't ever have to repeat this performance again. However, I will. Your bridge will be burned every time you need a reminder of how to properly behave."
"Yes, sir," I replied, "From now on, I'll be good and not fight anymore."
"Now, I want you to go over to your desk, and while you are in quiet contemplation there is to be no playing with anything. That includes your model train collection, your video games, your computer, and most of all not your toy soldiers," the Sheriff remarked.
I nodded my head I understood him.
"And, to make sure you learned your lesson, I expect you to write five hundred words explaining why fighting and lying to me about it, were wrong. I also expect them to be very neatly written. When you are done, I want you to bring your paper downstairs to me so I can read what you wrote," the Sheriff told me.
I knew my cursive writing was very sloppy, so I asked him, "Can I print the words?"
"As long as the words are neatly done, yes, you may print them. Oh, and Cody, they'd better be very neatly done. That means, take your time and really concentrate on what you're saying," the Sheriff responded.
I made my way to the chair standing in front of my desk. Carefully, I pulled the Aeron out so I could gently settle my sore haunches on its foam cushion seat. I saw the disappointment in me on the Sheriff's face. It was a look of dismay I did not like.
I reached over and picked up a writing pad and a sharpened pencil. Once the Sheriff departed my bedroom, I buried my forehead on my arm. The dam burst and the floodgates opened wide. When I raised my head my face was soaked. What was coming over me? How was the Sheriff of small town Astatula able to break through the walls of defenses I'd built around myself in Palo Pinto to survive? My impenetrable shield now had a crack in it.
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
(A rented DVD of the epic Star Wars: Episode VI - Return of the Jedi plays on the 42-inch Emerson HDTV in the living room of the Daniels house. Only half-interested in the Second Generation Robotic Droid known as R2-D2, Cody lays on his belly on the carpeted floor of the den. His chin rests on his hands. His elbows are bent in front of him. His bare feet fully extend, and his toes point out.)
Sheriff Daniels: (Teasing) You look like a miniature, blond-headed, seal pup laying that way.
(He picks up a ball from off the coffee table.)
Sheriff Daniels: Let's see if we can balance this spherical object on the tip of your nose.
(He playfully attempts to place the ball on the Cody's nose. Cody barks like a seal. They laugh. Cody turns his head, cranes his neck, and studies the Sheriff who now leisurely relaxes in his brown, leather La-Z-Boy rocking recliner leafing through the evening edition of the Astatula Gazette.)
In bold black letters, the lead story's headline: "32nd Annual Astatula Fish Fry, Saturday, June 5th, at Sullivan Lake.
(The social gathering draws every citizen of the town for a day of celebration and live entertainment. Sheriff Daniels notices Cody looking at him. He puts his paper down.)
Sheriff Daniels: What? You don't like the movie?
(Never much of a movie buff, Cody wonders does he dare tell the world's biggest George Lucas fan he thinks the movie is kind of b-o-r-I-n-g?)
Cody: I'd rather go play with my Army men and create my own Star Wars adventures.
(Cody hopes the sheriff will allow him to.)
Sheriff Daniels: I just popped a DiGiorno in the oven. 400 degrees for 21 minutes. It's pepperoni. Your favorite. Add extra cheese of course. You can stand to watch that much more of this movie.
(Two days later the weather is balmy. With fishing poles in hand, Cody and Matt ride their bikes down the middle of Highway 62. Longhorns inhabit several pastures on the grassy knolls east of town. Big, yellow, McGuire Corporation trucks sit on the shoulder of the road. Sullivan Lake is their destination. The boys intend to fish for their suppers. The black-tailed prairie dog town locates off to their right. Several of the little furballs sit at tunnel openings alert to any dangers that come their way. The critters' light brown coats blend well with the dirt surrounding their mounds. High-pitched sounds are their means of communication. Fascinated by how the rodents wrestle, groom, and nuzzle each other, Cody and Matt watch their playful antics. Cody believes these are lessons the human species could well learn. The boys arrive at the lake.)
Matt: (Affably) Ready to get bashed, lunk head?
Cody: As ready as you are, tenderfoot.
(They cast their lines into the still water of the lake. Uttering deep, raspy, quacks, two mallards fly off from where they land. A Pepsi delivery truck passes by on the highway. Cody and Matt hear two loud noises off in the distance. The sounds startle Matt. He reels his latest cast in. The eighteen-wheeler's airbrakes sound as the driver stops the semi curbside in front of the Kwok Fui Lau Chinese Laundry.
Matt: (Inquisitive) What were those bangs?
(Cody removes the fish from off the hook it flops around on and looks at his worried buddy.)
Cody: It must have been some old truck backfiring going down Cassandra Boulevard.
(Cody's past in Palo Pinto tells him he knows better. Matt tosses the Bluegill he's just snagged into the Styrofoam cooler the boys brought along for their outing. Inside the small establishment, the Pepsi driver finds a grisly scene. Zhang Wei, the elderly proprietor of the business, and his concubine, Li Na Foo, have been shot in the back of their heads execution style. This becomes the third Mom and Pop store in the small town robbed in recent weeks. The body count from those attacks now totals four deceased.)
Matt: (Nervous) We have seven Bluegills. Do you think that's enough for the fish fry?
Cody Should be. Are we done fishing?
(Matt loops the shiny metal hook on the end of the line of his Flycaster fishing pole into an eyelet.)
Matt: I am. That was fun. Maybe we should go home?
(Cody is in agreement. He places the fish cooler in the basket attached to the handlebars on Matt's bike and mounts his Mongoose.)
Cody: (Good-naturedly) Make sure you clean them right.
(The boys sense they are being watched. Slowly, Cody surveys the woods surrounding Sullivan Lake. He sees nothing out of the ordinary. Still, he does not like the eerie foreboding that settles over him. His inherent sense of imperilment vibrates. Too many times in Palo Pinto he's felt it before. The premonition never wrong. Holding their fishing rods in their hands Cody and Matt pedal back toward town.)
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement all my Cody Schroder stories.
So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of this incredible picture that provides Cody such an easily recognizable face on FanStory. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, chosen to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with all my Cody Schroder stories.. |
By Brett Matthew West
Doom, plain and simple in many ugly forms, was written all over the place as Matt and I approached the Kwok Fai Lau Chinese Laundry. Sheriff Daniels was already onsite at the bloodbath.
Seeing the bustling scene, Matt asked with excited wonder, "What tornado hit this place?"
Although we knew better than to interfere with the inquest, that was a real good description of the environment we encountered. Immediately, I detected the Sheriff dressed in protective clothing to avoid contaminating the territory. We noticed the yellow tape that cordoned the building off limits.
"Remember those loud bangs we heard down at the lake?" I asked him.
"Yeah," Matt responded.
"They were gunshots," I replied.
"Gunshots!" Matt exclaimed, "You mean the old Chinaman got waxed?"
"Who else would be inside there?" I asked.
Matt covered his eyes with his left hand. He already had enough bad dreams. He didn't need anymore invaders of his slumber. Later, we would hear all about the murders. The town would be a-buzz concerning them for days.
Sheriff Daniels, all six feet, two hundred pounds of muscle of him, possessed a right hand as strong as Bessemer steel. I'd recently felt that unpleasantness. It was a lesson I had not forgotten. He looked back at us but did not say anything.
Later, in the privacy of our home, when I asked him why he'd worn protective gear, the Sheriff told me, "Because the crimson that covered the inside of the zhuo attached itself to whatever came in contact with it."
This incident was where my interest in criminology began to manifest and I decided what I wanted to be when I grew up. Somehow, over the course of the next eight years, I became fascinated with forensics. So much could be learned from them.
While the Sheriff probed the scene inside the laundry, Matt and I sat on our bikes observing what we could see. I noticed through the blood-stained glass doors of the laundry that Deputy Fred Taylor milled about close to the Sheriff's side, He was a sore festered on the finger of life.
"There's Taylor. He's always sticking his nose in where he doesn't belong. The buttinski," I muttered to myself and pondered the possibilities of how much better off Astatula would be without him.
Sheriff Daniels understood most killers received a visceral perverse thrill from murdering their victims. Somehow, the chaotic feeling of participating in the kill, and the choreography of death, enthralled them. He sensed the slaughter of the Chinaman and his concubine fit the modus operandi. He wondered if the slayer felt their final breaths escape their corpses?
"What a way to die," he commented to no one in particular.
He could tell by how the bodies were positioned when they fell that the attacker accessed them from behind. The gunshots were from a 9mm fired at close range. A commonly owned weapon.
Zhang Wei laid face down on the floor near the opened cash register. It still contained four twenties, three tens, five fives, and fifteen singles. Robbery did not appear to be the motive for the murders. That made the sheriff wonder what was?
Connecting the peculiarity of this fact with the murders of Johann Modero and Elias Scruggs at the Chevron a month ago his office was already working on, he instructed his deputy, "Note this, Fred. The money was not touched."
Taylor scribbled a note on his pad but said nothing. Mostly aloof, he seldom spoke.
"The Astatula Gazette would chomp at the bit to get that information," the Sheriff stated.
Upon closer examination, there were no obvious physical indications Li Na Foo had been sexually assaulted. Her autopsy would establish this certainty. However, she was missing a digit. These facts combined to make the Sheriff consider the notion a serial killer was on the loose in the small town.
"Victim Number Two's right thumb removed," Sheriff Daniels mentioned.
The Sheriff punched speed dial on his Samsung Gallery S6 smartphone. He liked the high-end calls the apparatus made. Taylor noted the missing body part. The Medical Examiner would arrive soon thereafter. Until they did, the Sheriff would position his deputy outside the laundry to prevent any unauthorized personnel from entering the crime scene and further contaminating it.
I watched the Sheriff. He surveyed the blood spatter that covered the walls and the counter. I was intrigued by his thoroughness.
"Always pay attention to the smallest details in whatever you're examining," were words he'd previously told me before.
I saw he followed his own advice. The shapes and sizes of the blood spatters varied. Overhead lighting from a clandestine bulb illuminated them. He pondered if their unique patterns would tell him anything useful?
Two pools of blood congealed about what remained of the victims' partially blown away heads. With the lack of witnesses, these droplets would be crucial in telling the story of what occurred inside the laundry. Luminal would find any fingerprints.
The putrid smell of death lingered in the air. The cooled temperatures of the deceased, and their pallor, enabled the Sheriff to approximate the time of the crime to have been somewhere within the previous couple of hours.
A pot of oolong tea sat on a burner in the back room of the laundry. Two uneaten ang ku kueh laid on a plate. Filled with bean paste, the tortoiseshell-shaped pastries were commonly associated with longevity. Espied in what we witnessed, Matt and I continued our surveillance.
An odd scrape on the top of the counter caught the Sheriff's attentive eye. Was this an important clue? The gouge looked fresh to him.
Several questions raced through his mind, 'Had there been a confrontation? Peculiarly, why was the teapot turned off? Why wasn't the money removed from the cash register? If robbery wasn't the motive for the murders, what was? Was it possible that the state's Automated Fingerprint Identification System could produce the killer?'
"Make sure this abrasion gets dusted, Fred," he told his deputy, "I don't recall this scratch being here the last time I brought uniforms in to be laundered."
Again, Taylor did not respond. He simply made another entry into his notepad. It was rapidly becoming fuller by the moment.
Sheriff Daniels had witnessed maggots crawl out of dead bodies. He was no stranger to rigor mortis. Still, the brutal assassinations of Zhang Wei and Li Na Foo attacked his psyche.
"These were neighbors in a small town where brutality of this nature is not supposed to happen," he remarked.
Puzzled once more, he silently wondered, 'Who would have turned the teapot off after killing two victims? Moreover, what would be the purpose in that? And, why was there a fresh mark on the top of the counter? It wasn't there three days ago.'
Mentally, the Sheriff questioned himself, "Did he know anybody in town orderly enough to turn a teapot off in a high-stressed situation?"
He decided there was only one person he could think of, and the little dark-haired rebel rouser had better have been fishing with a certain someone. On the other hand, the blond munchkin was an altogether different matter. The Sheriff decided he would make a point to ask the two of them if the peas in a pod saw or heard anything unusual that morning. After all, they did have to ride their bikes by the laundry to get to Sullivan Lake.
His preliminary analysis completed, the Sheriff stripped out of his protective equipment. He threw the waste products in the large, rectangular, dipsty dumpster in the alley behind the laundry. He knew upon his arrival home, his uniform would soon join it because the stench from the putrefaction of the bodies permeated the material's pores.
His short list of those to talk to began with the Pepsi man. Wiry, the driver's name was Ian Brunson. He stood five-feet-ten-inches tall and weighed two-hundred-and-twelve pounds. He wore black-rimmed glasses prominently displayed on his oval face. Ian Brunson had some explaining to do.
The Sheriff found him seated in the cab of his Peterbilt, still in shock. Brunson had only been on the job seven months. Prior to that he was stationed at Fort Campbell, Kentucky as a sniper for the 101st Airborne Infantry Division. Sheriff Daniels knew the Screaming Eagles were an elite outfit of well-trained soldiers.
The more I looked at Deputy Taylor the more I recalled how he and I were not on good terms by any stretch of the imagination. On two previous occasions, Taylor had confronted me after receiving reports of shoplifting at the Chris's Rex-All Drug Store. However, much to his chagrin, I had no involvement with those candy thefts.
At least 60-years-old, Taylor was full of himself. He strutted around like a proud peacock with his plume fully displayed. He'd also cautioned me that he'd heard about my past and was keeping a very close eye on me. I knew not everybody in Astatula felt I belonged in the town.
Taylor had threatened me, "When I can prove you are the culprit behind the shoplifting, I am going to run you in! And, I'm going to make sure you get a one way ticket to the Sierra Maya Institution for Wayward Boys to boot!"
This Juvenile Detention Center was located outside of El Paso. It was a notorious and violent lockup. A place I definitely did not want to be.
In Taylor's gruffness, I had been warned that he did not allow any "Hellcat Wolverines messing up his town!"
That was what Taylor called me the first time he approached me about the "so called" shoplifting rumors he'd heard. I would have taken great pleasure in running him over with my bike full speed ahead. If I did, I would have kept right on going. The thought of leaving incriminating tire tracks up and down Taylor's steam-ironed uniform humored me.
I sat there closely monitoring the buzzing activity at the laundry. For a fleeting moment, I considered committing the act but thought better of such a vile deed. I knew the Sheriff definitely would not allow me to get away with committing the atrocity. In that regard, Taylor was a very lucky man.
Soon thereafter, Matt and I rode our bikes by the crime scene on the opposite side of Cassandra Boulevard and hurried home. There was a fish fry calling our names. He had fish to clean.
(NOTE: The previous chapter: Murder At The Chinese Laundry now also available Enjoy!)
| Author Notes |
After fishing for our dinners at Sullivan Lake, Matt and I encounter the grisly murder scene at the Chinese Laundry.
There I see Deputy Fred Taylor. To put it mildly, HIM AND I DID NOT LIKE EACH OTHER! This is Evan, by Lilibug6, chosen to compliment this portion of my story. So, thanks Lilbug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Every time Deputy Taylor examined the contents contained inside the manila folder, he secretly squirreled away in the back of the bottom drawer of his desk in the Sheriff's Office, he got the urge. The uncontrolled passion they presented him with was sweeter than the finest-tuned Stradivarius violin played by the world renown Antonio Vivaldi.
But, it was a burning lust Deputy Taylor could not deny. Several classics were contained in the collection...so far. Soon, to satisfy his unquenchable thirst, there would be more. Fantasizing these events again in his fondest memories Deputy Taylor closed the file up, picked it up gently, caressed it like a baby and returned the folder to its dignified hideaway.
Fred Taylor had remained the Deputy Sheriff of Astatula for three, painfully long, in his own book anyway, years. He always desired more from life than the hand he had been dealt.
Fast cars and femme doms, a good bottle of Pinot Noir wine and plenty of eye candy. These were some of the things Deputy Taylor fantasized about. They were also the things he missed the most about Vegas. Oh, not to mention that "nasty little ordeal" he managed to keep hidden.
Deputy Taylor possessed a fertile past. It was his future that needed cultivating.
"All in good time," he tried to reassure himself knowing his plans for the present dictated how the cards would fall.
Still, he pined for the good old days of long ago. Deputy Taylor wondered if he could ever get back to them. These murders in Astatula would not simply go away on their own. Sheriff Daniels was inching closer to solving this puzzle with each setting sun.
Once that business was concluded perhaps the good Sheriff would disappear as well? He had been the law in this one-horse town for many years. Grass is always greener being looked at from the top down.
Then, there was that little unholy terror Cody Schroder to be considered. What rock he was dragged out from under Deputy Taylor did not know. However, he did realize how much he despised the wide-eyed monster.
If only Beth Sorenson had not gone snooping around Palo Pinto, like she was the brat's Great White Hope. Cody Schroder would be safely tucked away in a Boys Ranch somewhere instead of continuously sighted all over Astatula.
Deputy Taylor was listed among the small faction of law abiding citizens in the small town who opposed the boy's very presence in Potter County. Cody Schroder was an outsider and not really one of them.
They thought he was no more than "Just another problem needing eliminating."
Deputy Taylor knew ridding the blight that he considered the boy to be was no easy task to accomplish. Like it, or not, Cody Schroder appeared to be here to stay. Especially since he was now installed as Sheriff Daniels Cabin Boy.
What Deputy Taylor would like to do would be to tow Cody out to sea alright...and leave him there adrift in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean as shark bait. In his way of thinking that would be too good for him!
The radio cackled and a 10-24 "Trouble-Send Help" call transmitted over Deputy Taylor's portable hand-held radio.
He wondered, "What dire emergency it could be?"
In Astatula, one never knew. It could be anything from an old lady chasing a cat up a tree to an armed robbery. And, everything in between. Casually, Deputy Taylor rose out of his comfortable chair and meandered towards the entrance door of the Sheriff's Office.
About the same time Cody materialized on the scene to perform his mundane chores of cleaning the Sheriff's trash cans and sweeping his floor. Tasks the boy was given to do that day. Still, he seldom minded if work came before play.
Deputy Taylor shot a heated glare Cody's way. The boy said nothing in response. As he headed for the broom closet the Deputy exited the office. Out of the corner of his eye Cody watched Deputy Taylor depart the building.
The broom and trash can liners would wait. They were not going anywhere. There was something much more important on Cody's mind that morning. Surveying the room he pondered where the buried treasure was? The boy knew the gold mine had to be concealed somewhere in the context of the office.
The question was where would an inquisitive ten-year-old stash Fort Knox or at least twenty-four exposures? Cody's heart started beating faster. He could feel the excitement inside him rising to a fever pitch and knew he had to busily conduct his search. Cody had to find what he was looking for before anyone caught him in the act of interfering in official law enforcement matters.
| Author Notes |
Deputy Taylor's disdain for Cody is apparent.
In reality, Cody feels much the same way about the Deputy. At the fish fry Cody overheard something that caught his attention. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, chosen to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
A stunning work of art, Beth Sorenson is Rembrandt's masterpiece "The Night Watch" painted on the pale white canvas of life. Her Rodin-sculpted elegance and grace make her a prize any man would be proud to have hanging on his arm. The arm she hung on belonged to Sheriff Brock Daniels.
The celebration at the VFW would provide her another opportunity to shine like the welcome beacon of a far away lighthouse to a ship tossed in hazardous seas. The white-hot spotlight always seemed to descend directly onto Beth. However, her egregious mannerisms never gave way to self-importance.
Making her way into the crowded parking lot off Hyle Street, where the VFW was located, Beth found an available slip. She stopped her Porsche Boxster Spyder, shut the engine off and extracted the key from the ignition.
Sheriff Daniels awaited her arrival. With the murders at the Kwok Fui Lau Chinese Laundry it had been a very long day. But, he had a little surprise for Beth Sorenson safely tucked away inside the pocket of his uniform shirt.
Beth no sooner climbed out from behind the wheel of her vehicle, one long slender leg at a time, than Donna Anderson, a petit brunette some times friend of hers, grabbed her arm wanting to talk.
"You look ravishingly elogant this evening my Dear," she complimented Beth. A broad grin on her rotund face.
Dressed in a Chiffon Evening Gown, with white trim around the sleeves and neckline, Beth was indeed be the envy and the lifeof the party. A position she always filled.
Desiring to remain polite Beth told Donna Anderson, "So do you."
Trying to pry for information the Feature Writer for the Astatula Ledger asked Beth, "Did you hear about that crash over in Palo Pinto a few weeks ago?"
With the towns being 46 miles apart everybody in the area had heard about the spectacular wipe out. Wise to Donna Anderson's little scheme, Beth attempted to brush her off as gently as possible. Although she and the Sheriff were the talk of the town, Beth never mixed business with pleasure.
In her most charming way Beth told Donna Anderson, "Some whack job, at almost a hundred miles an hour, completely missed a curve and jettisoned head first into an embankment. His Corolla looked like a squashed can of sardines! Always so much construction in that area."
Donna Anderson removed a newspaper clipping and an accompanying color photograph from out of her turquoise Gucci purse.
She handed the items to Beth and told her, "My associate, Jill Bernstein over at the Palo Pinto Press, sent me these. I thought you might want them. The picture is the dead guy's kid."
Beth took the items from Donna Anderson. She stuffed them in her black Longchamp handbag then snapped its clasps closed. Donna Anderson strutted off like a proud peacock displaying its brilliantly multi-colored train. A smirk crossed her face.
Beth watched her walk away. She realized not everybody in Astatula approved of certain strings she pulled after hearing about this horrific crash that left the boy an unwanted orphan. She slowly strolled to where Sheriff Daniels, who had witnessed the whole episode between the two ladies, awaited his guest.
When Beth arrived by his side he passionately kissed her full, rosy red lips. They tasted sweet. Like sugar always does. It was a start.
Casually he asked her, "What was that little tiff about?"
"Cody Schroder," was all Beth said in reply.
As they made their way inside the VFW Hall she added, "I need a drink. Wine will do."
The Sheriff allowed her comment about Cody to pass. Not too much rattled him.
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Brock Daniels eye-candy is confronted outside the VFW about Cody Schroder.
Not something one wishes to do! This is Evan, by Lilibug6 selected to compliment this portion of my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
The swinging, entertaining Texas Rendezvous Band kept the fish fry lively with their unique blend of Country Covers and 50s and 60s Pop music.
Selections played by the locally popular band from Austin included plenty of Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, and Merle Haggard numbers. With well known Bob Wills, Ernest Tubb, Hank Williams, and Elvis Presley Hits thrown in for good measure.
Cody had never been to a live concert before. There were lots of things he had been deprived of in his short life. Although Cody did not know any of the famous performers who's songs he heard sung by the band, or any of the timeless tunes played while he stood down by the front of the stage, he was particularly enamored with the resonating, deep and loud "boom-boom-boom!" of Dale Lamb, the bassman's red instrument. He also liked Weed Carey's amazing fiddle playing.
Cody's belly was full of Bluegills. One actually. The one Sheriff Daniels made him eat. And French Fries, like any red-blooded boy's would be. He intently listened to the music, politely applauding along with the rest of the attendees there that night. Lost unto himself Cody even strummed his own air bass.
Sheriff Daniels and Beth Sorenson had another performance on their minds. A private party that featured each other. After Beth's little skirmish with Donna Anderson in the parking lot of the VFW, the Sheriff knew what would go a long way in cheering her up. He had always worked his special magic touchs before.
While the band loudly played on they slipped away into the Sheriff's aqua-blue Z28 Camaro for their little excursion. Heading east on Alamo Avenue it was nice to get up and go. At least they thought so.
A relaxing night of what the two of them had been romantically entertaining themselves with for the two years Beth had resided in Astatula was in order. Nothing else the Sheriff knew of eliminated stress better than being wrapped up in the arms of love. Beth's were the ones Sheriff Daniels constantly wanted around him.
He loved Beth Sorenson from the tip of her auburn hair all the way down to her pretty little pink toenails. The ring in his pocket proved how much he did. And, there was nothing he would not do for her either.
For her part Beth was well versed in pleasuring her man. She did too. She always extracted that "I won't take no for an answer" look she was world famous for...in Sheriff Daniels realm of existence, that is.
Their explosion of passion was completed on the blanket Sheriff Daniels spread on the ground in the privacy of Lapore Park. It was then Beth dropped the bomb on the Sheriff by announcing she had been snooping around on the Astatula Assassin. That was the name the Astatula Ledger newspaper had dubbed the deranged madman terrorizing the town.
"Beth, I have known you since before dirt was invented and I explicitly trust your judgment " the Sheriff bluntly told her then adamantly said, "but, there is no way, no way at all, he is the killer. He does not fit the M.O."
"Think about it this way, Brock," Beth tried to convince the Sheriff, "it runs in their clan. They are family, right? None of them are any good."
There was no changing the fact Ernesto Guttierrez, the quiet and dignified butcher at the Cattlemen's Beef and Packing Plant was the Green Belt Slasher's next of kin. The Green Belt Slasher had earned his name because he always strangled his victims with a green belt. He left it tied around their necks afterwards before carving them into little pieces.
Unfortunately for Ernesto Guitterrez he was the first cousin of the infamous rapist and murderer the Sheriff had captured eleven years ago.
Enrique Guittierrez awaited execution in Huntsville for slaughtering six women. Sheriff Daniels recalled he had a visit planned in his near future. One final attempt to get Enrique Guttierrez to confess to the heinous knife carving of the Sheriff's long time lover Diane Crews. The mother of his deceased infant son.
Guittierrez had long refused to do so and had always denied any guilty involvement in the act. Sheriff Daniels distinguished Peace Officer career proved otherwise. He knew Guttierrez was a blatant liar and he would nail the Astatula Assassin, too.
Beth was done talking. Especially about such dramatic points of the past. She reached over to where Sheriff Daniels lay beside her on the blanket.
Pulling him over on top of her she declared, "You won't regret your decision, Cowboy. Not at all!"
Nightmares from the past could wait for another time. Right now Beth wanted all the Sheriff would give her...and a whole lot more.
| Author Notes |
Leaving the VFW Fish Fry, Sheriff Daniels and Beth Sorenson attend their own private love-making party. That is nothing new for them.
Cody, his belly full of Bluegills and French Fries, mostly French Fries, like any red-blooded boy's would be, is enamored by the music being played at the fish fry. This is Evan, by Lilybug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilybug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Sheriff Daniels sat at his desk pouring over the fact sheets and reports from the recent murders in Astatula. One thing was certain. The little town had never experienced a crime wave like the one that had it in its throes now.
The morning press conference he scheduled had been covered by Channels 4, 7, 13, and 24. All the local area broadcasters in Potter County. Never during Sheriff Daniels tenure, that encompassed almost fifteen years of solid law enforcement, had he pursued a serial killer like the Astatula Assassin. Understandably, the upstanding citizenry of the town was growing more and more unsettled with each new victim discovered.
The mode of operation in the slayings was always the same. The victims ranged from a young, white female convenience store clerk on the overnight shift to a middle-aged pizza restaurant manager. Then, there was the old Chinaman at the laundry and his concubine.
Two questions that kept reoccurring in Sheriff Daniels mind were: what did these crimes have in common and where was the missing link that would solve this case? What the Sheriff needed was a new lead to work. What he got was backlash from a reporter who had attended the press conference that morning.
John Terry, from Channel 7 in Palo Pinto, was a wily veteran of the news field. He wanted to know "Why the Sheriff had been socializing at the fish fry on Saturday evening at the VFW?"
He also asked "Why the Sheriff had not been out investigating and ensuring the safety of the townspeople?"
However, John Terry went a little too far and made Sheriff Daniels angry. Although he could not show his displeasure in the public forum of a press conference.
John Terry insinuated "Did the Sheriff think Cody Schroder, or any of his family members, were involved in these slayings?"
"After all," Terry pointed out the coincidence, "these brutal attacks had not occurred until Cody Schroder appeared on the scene."
The question triggered a long buried painful memory for the Sheriff. As he sat in his office exploring these crime reports, and searching for the proverbial needle in a haystack, those memories flooded back once again.
In Sheriff Daniels book kids are cute to look at. They are even fun to play with. But, for Pete's sake, let them go home with someone else. These sentiments stemmed from the tremendous loss he experienced eight years earlier when his only child, Tyler Wyatt Daniels, died in the Sheriff's arms from Meningitis when he was six-months-old.
It may as well have been a million years ago. Because losing a child is the kind of heartache a parent never gets over. Not one single day passed by Sheriff Daniels did not remember his son. He kept the boy's bedroom a memorial full of his pictures, favorite stuffed animals, medical records and yes, even the notice of his death.
Cody was now installed as the Sheriff's errand boy, trash can emptier, floor sweeper and odd jobs doer. Sheriff Daniels noticed that Deputy Taylor did not seem pleased to have the boy hanging around the office so much.
"He's always underfoot!" Deputy Taylor constantly complained.
It was not hard to see the tension Deputy Taylor displayed. His disapproval of Cody was obvious. For his part the boy just kept to his assigned chores. Completing each one of them with pride.
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels struggles to find a common thread between the recent murders in Astatula.
While doing so he notices Deputy Taylor curiously displays animosity towards Cody Schroder. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibig6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Cody was not feeling well when he went to bed that night. Usually, after crawling under the covers and snuggling down, sound sleep came easily to him. This time he tossed and turned for what seemed like an eternity before Mr. Sandman finally came to the boy's rescue. Almost right away he started twitching around in his comfortable bed.
"No! Leave me alone!" Cody screamed out in the darkness of the night.
Cody had been adjusting well to living in Astatula. For the first time in his life he felt safe. Cody had done more in the two short months he had been under Sheriff Daniels care than he ever did in Palo Pinto, where he was born and spent the first ten years of his life in a deplorable existence.
Now, laying in bed where he should have been snug-as-a-bug-in-a-rug Cody kept fitfully tossing around.
"I said LEAVE ME ALONE!" he hollered out at the top of his lungs emphasizing each word crystal clearly.
Then, suddenly, Cody sprang up in bed. Not quite awake. The amplified volume of his outbursts woke the Sheriff. His bedroom was two doors down the hallway from where Cody was at. Sheriff Daniels tossed his blanket off when he heard the boy crying out like something was terrorizing him. Placing his two size twelves on the shag carpet he made his way down the mirrored hall. This was becoming an all-too-common occurrence.
Cody was sitting up in bed when Sheriff Daniels slowly entered his room and flipped on the overhead light. He could see his young ward was still half asleep. Softly he called the boy's name just audibly enough so it would not startle him.
"Cody, you're okay," the Sheriff reassured him explaining, "you're having one of your patented frightmares. That's all."
He placed a comforting hand on Cody's shoulder and gently shook him. When he did the Sheriff noticed the boy's silk pajama top slightly run up his left arm. Waking up with a start, Cody wiped the sleep out of his tired eyes with the backside of his left hand. He could not believe the same scenario had played out again. This was the third time this week.
Cody wanted to bawl like a little baby but forced himself not to. The Sheriff sat down on the bed beside him. Doing so comforted the boy.
"Your father...again?" he asked Cody knowing all too well the answer to that question before he even asked it.
Cody buried his face deep into the Sheriff's shoulder and kept it there. Sheriff Daniels ran the fingers of his strong right hand through the boy's baby-fine blond hair. Nothing else needed to be said at that moment.
Earl Anthony Schroder left no doubt about that. If Sheriff Daniels ever wanted to cold-bloodedly murder somebody it was definitely Earl Anthony Schroder! For what he had done to Cody.
After several long moments of silence Cody answered Sheriff Daniels inquiry with a simple, "Uh-huh." Then told him, "He was attacking me again!"
Cody did not care. He needed to say what was on his mind. So, he did. He blurted it right out saying, "He had my undies all the way off and was making me put "It" in his mouth again!"
The boy trembled a little at the disgusting memory of his father's repetitious act. The longer he listened to Cody's comments the more Sheriff Daniels began to seethe. If Earl Anthony Schroder was not dead he needed to be!
"What kind of father does something like that to a young boy? Especially, his own son?" the Sheriff heatedly thought to himself.
Cody wondered out loud, "Why me?"
Sheriff Daniels tried to be as sympathetic as he could be. However, he had no explanation for the horrible things Cody's father had done to him.
He told the boy in all honesty, "I can't answer that, Little Man. How I wish I could. But, it is simply beyond me. I can't."
Then he hugged Cody as tightly as he would allow him to saying, "Come here."
It was time for the brave little boy way down deep inside Cody to cry all the hurt out. As Sheriff Daniels held him real tight the dam burst wide open and Cody's tears fell like rain in the middle of a monsoon.
| Author Notes |
Cody has another frightmare about his past.
Sheriff Daniels tries to comfort him through it. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks, Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
After a few long minutes, and several sniffles, Cody recollected himself enough to keep talking to the Sheriff. He did not understand why he had to go through the things his father cruelly put him through. But at least he felt a little better.
"Tell you what little man," Sheriff Daniels told Cody noticing it was 6:38 in the morning, "you put on some play clothes, comb your hair, brush your teeth, and I'll go downstairs and whip us up a big bowl of scrambled eggs, some sausage links, and maybe I will even throw in some of those strawberry preserves you've been eating me out of house and home on."
"I'm sorry," Cody sheepishly apologized.
"For what?" the Sheriff asked him.
"For eating you "out of house and home" on those preserves. But they are so good!" Cody replied.
Teasingly Sheriff Daniels wanted to know, "Are you apologizing for something you don't need to be apologizing for, Little Man?"
Then he told Cody, "Take that apology back or I will swat your tail end."
Cody responded with a defiant "No!"
"Okay then, Little Man. Don't say I did not warn you," Sheriff Daniels responded pulling Cody face down over his knee and firmly swatting his pajama-clad bottom one time.
Cody understood the Sheriff was only clowning around in an effort to make him feel better. He really did not mean that pop on Cody's bottom to be any form of discipline. Cody also enjoyed interacting with Sheriff Daniels like they always did.
From out of nowhere Cody asked the Sheriff if he could, after eating breakfast, play football with Matt and some other boys.
"Of course you can, Little Man," Sheriff Daniels told him.
"It's tackle," Cody informed the Sheriff hoping that would not make a difference.
"Roughhousing. Always roughhousing," the Sheriff replied then said, "when you get yourself ready come downstairs and let's tackle some breakfast before you go play football with Matt. Okey-dokey?"
Cody's earlier frown turned upside down and became a broad smile the Sheriff was glad to see on the boy's face. Getting off the bed to get himself together, like he had been told to do, Cody's two little bare feet shuffled off to Buffalo, or into his bathroom, whichever came first.
Beth Sorenson had breakfast on the stove sizzling away. The aroma of the sausage and eggs cooking wafted throughout the kitchen as Sheriff Daniels walked into the room. He passionately kissed Beth's tender lips.
"Is Cody okay?" was the first question she asked upon the Sheriff's entrance, "He sure let out a blood-curdling scream."
"All I can say at the moment is it's a real good thing Earl Anthony Schroder is dead!" the Sheriff responded.
His tone of voice delivered the message loud and clear.
The Sheriff grabbed a coffee cup from out of the cupboard next to the stainless steel two-compartment sink and filled it up with the Espresso Beth made.
"What a pathetic piece of...!" Beth started to comment. She stopped herself when Cody walked into the room, "Good morning, Sunshine!" she instead greeted him.
Cody gave Beth one of his sly little impish winks and exclaimed, "Something sure smells good in here. And, I'm starving!"
"A growing boy like you is always hungry," Sheriff Daniels teased Cody.
"Helps to make us big and strong," Cody remarked flexing both arms like he was posing for Muscle Magazine.
Realizing he had a long way to go before he would ever get there, Cody quickly dropped his arms down by his sides.
"Well, sit your tail feathers down before I plucked them all out one at a time," the Sheriff good-naturedly told Cody to do, "Beth has your breakfast ready."
Cody pulled his chair out from under the oval redwood table they ate at. He plopped down. He was hungry. His frightmares, as Cody called them, always increased his appetite.
| Author Notes |
After having another nightmare about the abuse his father put him through Cody is comforted by Sheriff Daniels.
This is Ethan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Half way through consuming a hearty breakfast Sheriff Daniels informed Cody he would be going to see Doctor Veronica Connors, a well known Child Psychologist, with a longstanding practice in Astatula. In other words, she was real good at what she did.
Cody's immediate reaction was a loud, "You said I could go play football with Matt!"
He dropped his fork onto his plate. It made a loud "ping!" Then, standing up like he was going to bolt from the table he stammered, "You promised I could!"
Cody wondered why all big people he ever encountered constantly lied to him and mistreated him? He thought Sheriff Daniels was different from the rest of them. But, maybe he was not?
"Sit down, Little Man, and finish eating your breakfast," the Sheriff instructed Cody to do, "of course you can go play football with Matt."
Cody was relieved by what he was told.
"Then, later on," Sheriff Daniels continued, "is when Beth is going to come by and pick you up for lunch. She's going to take you to Melba's Burgers and Shakes. After you are finished with lunch is when you will see Doctor Connors."
Cody sat down and picked up his fork. He took a bite of the scrambled eggs still on his plate.
Swallowing them he asked, "Can I have a chocolate shake?"
"And, a double steakburger all-the-way. Add cheese," Sheriff Daniels replied, "if that makes you happy, Little Man."
Cody took another bite. This time it was the last of his sausage links. He chewed it up. Then, down the hatch it sailed away. Drinking his orange juice all at one time Cody looked at the Sheriff who was now standing beside me.
"You must think I have Locoitis?" he half-jokingly asked him, "Or rocks in my head?"
Sheriff Daniels playfully mused Cody's blond hair like he always did and told the boy, "No, Little Man, I don't think you have Locoitis. However, as mule-thick and stubborn as your head is some times rocks I'm not so sure about. That may be another story."
He continued with, "Actually, Little Man, some times it helps to have somebody else to talk to when you have things on your mind you can't fix all by yourself."
"Kind of like my frightmares," Cody asked trying to understand what the Sheriff was telling me and slowly getting the picture.
The last of his food gone Cody thanked Beth for the breakfast telling her, "It was yummy!"
He looked at Sheriff Daniels but did not say anything. Quickly Cody jumped up from the table and threw huis dirty dishes into the sink. Hurriedly his crumpled napkin found its way into the trash can and out of the house he flew like he had been blasted out of a cannon. No way was Cody going to give the Sheriff a chance to change his mind about letting him go play football with Matt.
After Cody left the house, the front door loudly slamming behind him, Beth turned to the Sheriff and asked him, "Brock, why don't you adopt that boy? Everybody in Astatula knows how you feel about him. It is so obvious."
The Sheriff delayed responding before finally admitting, "I can't, Beth. I just can not do it."
Gently Beth placed his hand in hers and said, "Don't forget, Brock, you have told me all about Tyler Wyatt and the fact he died in your arms from Meningitis when he was six months old."
It was a very painful memory for the Sheriff. One he would never forget...nor did he ever want to.
Softly Beth continued by telling him, "Brock, Sweetheart, Cody could never replace Tyler. He knows that. No one can. And it would be so wrong of him or anyone else to ever try."
Sensing she had the Sheriff's attention, Beth further said, "But, Cody could be your son. If you will allow him to be. He needs you, Brock. And just as importantly you need him."
The Sheriff remained quiet. Silently contemplating everything Beth was telling him. And knowing it was all true.
Beth looked him in the eye and promised, "If you don't adopt him, Brock, I will!"
Then she paused a moment letting what she had just told the Sheriff to sink in before stating, "One way, or the other, Brock, we are going to be Cody's parents."
With Beth Sorenson standing right by his side come what may Brock Daniels once again realized how fortunate a man he really was
Then the thought occurred to him: why not adopt Cody?
Sheriff Brock Daniels had run out of excuses not to.
| Author Notes |
Behind every good man there is an even better woman.
Sheriff Daniels and Beth Sorenson make plans for Cody's future. This is Ethan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
No doubt about it. Matt Cochran lived to play football. He loved everything about the game. In his room, on every available inch of wall he had, he plastered posters of all his favorite players including Drew Brees, Tom Brady and Peyton Manning. Matt even slept with a football. Hugging it tightly as he slumbered away.
To say football consumed Matt was an understatement. It was his most favorite activity of all. He even played for the Texas Junior Football Organization's Astatula Stallions.
Matt willingly completed extra chores around the house. He also remained on especially good behavior most of the time. Just so he would be allowed by his father to keep playing the game he loved.
Quarterback was the only position Matt played. Even in the neighborhood pick-up games the boys of Astatula roused up. We would choose sides and were contented to play all day. For this game Matt wore his Tony Romo jersey since his favorite team was the Dallas Cowboys. In his mind Matt could play as well as all the big named NFL Quarterbacks.
Since Cody's arrival in Astatula, Matt always made sure he was always on his team. Quickly Cody became Matt'ss primary receiver. That morning was no different. Tackle was the only variety of the game the boys ever played. No two-hands-touch-below-the-waist sissy stuff was ever allowed in their games. It was more like "kill the man with the ball!"
After departing his house Cody headed straight for Lapore Park. Located on the eastern side of Astatula the busy Community Park always had something going on. In one area you could feed bread to the mallards that swam around Sullivan Lake if you wanted to.
Of course beyond that watering hole was the dangerous and strictly Off-Limits Miller's Cave. Cody and Matt had, against specific instructions, explored the cave on many occasions. If Sheriff Daniels knew he had done that Cody would be grounded for life!
Lapore Park benches were typically full of mothers with young children in strollers enjoying a day's outing. Dog walkers of all shapes and sizes also frequented the park. Cody met Matt and the other boys who were going to play football that morning in the grassy knoll just beyond Sullivan Lake.
While the boys were playing Deputy Taylor patrolled Downtown Astatula the old-fashioned way. He walked it. This area consisted of the Cattleman's Bank and Trust, the courthouse square, and several small shops scattered around a six-block area. Merchants in these stores were growing antsy. The Astatula Assassin was all they talked about.
Sheriff Daniels decided increased law enforcement presence would go a long way in reassuring them everything was being done to capture the deranged madman before he could strike again. Therefore, he wanted Deputy Taylor on foot patrol.
That morning there was something on the Deputy's mind he wanted to scope out. Friendly exchanges with merchants were secondary. So far the robberies and murders gripping the town had all occurred in the Mid-Town Business District. None had happened Downtown.
Prior to leaving the Sheriff's Station Deputy Taylor received a telephone call from Mayor Christopher Duncan that a Task Force was being assembled to assist Sheriff Daniels with this investigation. Deputy Taylor was not happy with that decision. Or the Mayor's interference in the case.
He turned left at Mason's Hardware on the corner of Mersalis Street and Third Avenue. Then walked two blocks to Pam's Party Rentals and turned right. Deputy Taylor was fighting an urge. Across Cassandra Boulevard he spotted Tammy Jo Snyder his on-again, off-again, depending on her mood at the moment, female companion.
Deputy Taylor draped his left arm around the back of Tammy Jo's neck and squeezed tightly.
"Where's my money?" was all she asked the Deputy.
Knowing Tammy Jo was not much more than a gold digger Deputy Taylor handed her an envelop he pulled out of his pocket.
"It's all there," he told her.
They walked on to the Hammock Five and Dime.
Tammy Jo told Deputy Taylor, "You keep the cash cow coming and I'll stay quiet."
"You're bleeding me dry with all this blood money of yours, Tammy Jo," Deputy Taylor told her in no uncertain terms.
"Not my problem," Tammy Jo retorted, "collecting the green is."
"Some day that color ain't gonna look pretty on you," Deputy Taylor coldly remarked and there was no misinterpreting his meaning.
"Are you threatening me?" Tammy Jo demanded just as icily.
Without another word Deputy Taylor turned sharply onto Mesa Drive. The corner they stood on. Tammy Jo stormed off heading down Travis Street.
As far as Deputy Taylor was concerned time for talking with Tammy Jo was rapidly running out.
| Author Notes |
Dispatched to walk the Downtown Section of Astatula in an effort to ease tensions building over the Astatula Assassin Deputy Taylor takes a detour.
This is Ethan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
"I have complete confidence in you Brock and I know you're doing everything you can possibly do," Mayor Christopher Duncan told the Sheriff in his spacious office.
He was a jovial and dapper man. A real glad-hander.
"But, I want the Astatula Assassin stopped. NOW!" he continued speaking, "So tell me what it is going to take to get the job done?"
Sheriff Daniels responded to the Mayor's question by assuring him, "I'm close. In fact I have a suspect I am bringing in for questioning as soon as we adjourn."
Mayor Duncan ran his fat fingers through his balding hair. He was overjoyed at the Sheriff's response.
"Who do you have in mind Brock?" he curiously wanted to know.
"According to the State of Texas Criminal Database Todd Burgmeyer, who lives alone out by the Palo Duro Canyon, served six years in Coffield Prison for manslaughter," the Sheriff replied then said, "the Crime Lab found his fingerprints on the Chinaman's geta."
"His shoes!" the Mayor exclaimed then jubilantly said, "he has to be our man."
Sheriff Daniels paused a moment to collect his thoughts and decide what else he wished to divulge to Mayor Duncan.
Gesturing by sort of waving his hands in front of him in a "come on, tell me more" motion the Mayor tried to coax Sheriff Daniels into providing him additional information about this newest development in the case.
Continuing, the Sheriff added, "The murders of Zhang Wei, and Li Na Foo, occurred before the laundry opened for business that morning. Looks like we finally have a real strong suspect here Mayor."
"There was never a doubt in my mind that you wouldn't capture the Astatula Assassin Brock," the Mayor boastfully stated, "you've been faithfully serving this little community of ours for a very long time now."
He extracted a brandy snifter out of his desk and poured himself a drink. Then offered the Sheriff one. The drink was refused by the lawman.
It was then the Mayor gleefully said, "I'll alert the Gazette!"
Sheriff Daniels looked hard at the Mayor. He knew he had to carefully say what he needed to whenever he spoke to the pompous, self-serving, glory-seeker who led the political side of life in Astatula.
Fortunately his term as Mayor was rapidly winding down. At least, bright light could be seen at the end of the tunnel.
"Let's not jump the gun here, Mayor," the Sheriff said reminding him that "Todd Burgmeyer is only a strong suspect."
Then he stated, "I'll get back to you about when it's time to inform the newspaper after I question the suspect."
"You do that Brock. Sure you won't have a drink?" the Mayor implored him once again.
The Sheriff declined the invitation.
"Bring Burgmeyer in and, let me know this case is closed as soon as you can," the Mayor instructed the Sheriff to do.
Basking in the sweet taste of victory the Mayor stated, "I might yet go down in history as the very best Mayor this town has ever seen. What a feather in my cap. Capturing the Astatula Assassin!"
Sheriff Daniels rose to his feet. He could not escape Mayor Duncan's office fast enough. He wanted to laugh in the Mayor's face but valued his job too much to do so. Besides, he had a suspect to question.
After sliding out of City Hall Sheriff Daniels made a beeline for the canyon. If Burgman was the Astatula Assassin this was one case the Sheriff would be ecstatic to close.
Making his way down Canyon Crest Drive, which in reality was nothing more than a pothole-filled, County-Maintained dirt road meandering down to the long, narrow canyon Sheriff Daniels could see the cloud of dust trailing behind his vehicle.
He thought about how long it would take the court to approve the adoption papers he had filed prior to his meeting with the Mayor? Soon, he would have a ready-made family. He and Beth would tie the knot in another month or two and Cody would be his.
Mentally side-tracked by the many thoughts racing through his mind Sheriff Daniels almost ran over a body laying beside the road. He slammed on his brakes and quickly brought his car to a screeching halt. He got out of his vehicle and made his way over to where the body lay. There were no signs of foul play noticed.
Sheriff Daniels checked the man's carotid artery for a pulse. If Todd Burgmeyer was the Astatula Assassin the town would be much safer than it had been before. Somehow, the Sheriff seriously doubted they had seen the last of the deranged madman.
Almost immediately Sheriff Daniels noticed that Todd Burgmeyer was left-handed. That ruled him out as the prime suspect. Previous ballistic evidence gathered at the murder scenes proved the hollow-point rounds fired to kill his victims had been expended from a .357 Magnum Semi-Automatic pistol held in the Astatula Assassin's right hand.
Heading back to his vehicle to radio the Coroner's Office, Sheriff Daniels knew he was back at Square One. This game of cat and mouse he would rather not play was still ongoing.
Todd Burgmeyer was dead.
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels discovers a prime suspect as the Astatula Assassin.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks, Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
The folklore surrounding Miller's Cave runs rampant in Astatula. It is among the bat-infested, stalagmite, stalactite, and speleothem limestone formations inside the cave that the legend of Chakwaina was rumored to have occurred many moons ago.
The story is told of the young Comanche brave Chakwaina who went walking one day. When night fell he was far from home. He decided he would spend the night in an old ranchero. After falling asleep he was awakened by a loud thump on the roof. Chakwaina leapt out of bed with a start and lit a candle as a skeleton arm crashed to the floor. Immediately it was joined by two legs, the chest, and the other arm. Soon the entire skeleton stood there looking at Chakwaina.
To test the brave's courage the skeleton said, "I challenge you to a wrestling match!"
Chakwaina won when he threw the skeleton off him with a sudden twist. The victory led to the skeleton rewarding Chakwaina with all of his treasure.
Returning back to his tribe Chakwaina promised them, "I will share my wealth with you."
But the young brave did not. This made his people very mad.
The angry elders banished Chakwaina by telling him, "You must live alone in the Big Hole until the Great Spirit appears."
Cody was fascinated with the stories he heard about Miller's Cave. Maybe that was why he and Matt continuously explored every inch of the cave they could access. Being explicitly forbidden to stay away from the cave only made the boys more determined to probe it.
The other finds they risked life and limb searching for were the dinosaur fossils Miller's Cave was reported to host including mammoths, saber-toothed cats, mastodons, Dire Wolves, and especially shark's teeth.
So far they had not located any of the prizes but they knew every nook, cranny and hidey hole the cave offered. At the time Cody did not realize how important that knowledge would be. The day would come when he would certainly find out.
The boys were sized just small enough to scamper over the jagged boulders partially blocking the mouth of Miller's Cave to gain entry. They knew all the bats that lived there by their first name. They had even had tea and crumpets with them on occasion. Of course, it helps when you're the ones who named them.
Driving back to Astatula from an afternoon shopping for wedding announcements in the upscale Patsy's Boutique in Austin, Beth had her car radio tuned to Willie's Roadhouse. She was listening to the DJ, Dallas Wayne, previewing the last song Merle Haggard recorded before his untimely death. A tune known as "Kern River Blues" that was being World-Debuted on the program she was listening to.
The tail had begun on Highway 42. It continued for ten miles or more. Beth was being followed just close enough for the driver of the other vehicle not to lose sight of her car. The distance between the two of them was slowly being shortened. Oblivious to the situation, at first, Beth drove on. She was about twenty-three miles away from town.
Noticing her stalker at the turn-off for Coro Crossing Beth's pulse began accelerating rapidly. She realized on this two-lane highway she would be an easy target any time her pursuer decided to strike. She reached for the .357 Magnum Sheriff Daniels had given her. She kept the pistol stashed away between the two front seats of her car. It felt good to her touch. An expert with the weapon, Beth was ready when the time was right.
She increased her speed to seventy miles an hour and pressed on. Her stalker stayed with her but did not further close the gap between them. Beth kept focusing on the sharp "S"-curved road in front of her. Occasionally checking her rearview mirror when she safely could.
She knew Sheriff Daniels was responding to a situation on the other side of Astatula. Some boys had vandalized a barn by spray-painting obscene graffiti on its side in neon green lettering.
When Sheriff Daniels contacted her, before she left Austin, he told her the old farmer who owned the barn swore the blond who ran away holding the spray can in his hand looked like Cody.
That struck the Sheriff as awfully peculiar because Cody and Matt were supposed to be at the library checking out books to read. Not anywhere near the vicinity of Miller's Cave and definitely not creating mischief.
All Beth could do was press on. Hoping to escape her stalker until she reached the safety of Astatula. She accelerated to eighty. Fifteen miles lay between her and the town. Her stalker did the same.
| Author Notes |
This is Chapter 15 of my book.
To read the other chapters go to the top of the page. There are blue numbers there that list all the previous chapters. Click on those numbers and the other chapters will magically appear. Isn't the formatting of this site simply something else? This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Deputy Taylor allowed his phone to ring three times before answering the Nokia. A quick glance at the digits printed across the phone's screen told him the moment of truth was near. The Warner goose chase Sheriff Daniels sent him on would wait. He had a more urgent matter to address.
Depressing the call received button on his phone curtly he answered, "Taylor."
He did not have to say another word.
The voice on the other end told him, "Little Bird dropping."
Deputy Taylor was pleased. He grinned from ear to ear.
"Seventh cousin found," he was then informed.
That was the news he wanted to hear.
"Got a man making a special delivery to Miss S. out on 42 any time now," was the third piece of good news singing sweet music in Deputy Taylor's ears.
The plan had gone off without a hitch. Greenbacks always do.
"Your package is delivered," Deputy Taylor told his caller, "business doing pleasure with you."
Deputy Taylor cut the call off. He spun his cruiser around in the middle of the road on Livingston Drive. He wondered if he still had time to observe the bewildered expression Beth Sorenson would have on her face when she received the word. Rapidly he sped off towards Highway 42. This was one show he did not want to miss.
Beth could hear the highway wind. Fifteen miles was a long way from Astatula. She noticed her pursuer closed the gap behind her. She worried if she was the selected next intended target of the Astatula Assassin?
"Why was Cody creating an issue at Old Man Penzler's and drawing Brock Daniels away from her when she needed him most?" she asked herself.
Beth decided if she survived this ordeal, Cody would have some tall explaining and major apologizing to do to her.
Then it happened. Her worst nightmare. The right rear tire on her car blew. Now what? At least she had her pistol by her side. She feared she'd need the firepower soon.
Trying to remain calm in the face of imminent danger, Beth eased up on the accelerator. Her speed rapidly decreased. She steered the car off the highway onto the right shoulder of the road. The other vehicle pulled up behind her and the driver climbed out of his car.
At the same time Beth exited her's. She did not know him. Her loaded .357 at the ready.
"Nasty looking flat you have there, Beth," the stalker casually mentioned.
"How do you know my name?" Beth demanded, surprised he had used it so calmly.
Walking to the rear of his car and popping the vehicle's trunk, he told her, "That's not important, Beth. But, in case you're wanting to know, you're popular in Palo Pinto."
Beth allowed the comment to slide.
"Keep your hands where I can see them or I'll drop you where you're at!" she warned him.
"Let's see Brockie-Poo sort that one out," he laughingly replied, then mockingly continued with, "Astatula Sheriff arrests soon-to-be wed girlfriend for murder of man changing her tire. That ought to make all the gossip rags. Yes indeed. All of them."
He removed a jack from out of the trunk of the car.
Beth was perplexed, to say the least. First the guy had stalked her. Now he was neighborly changing her tire. The story didn't add up.
"Where's your spare tire, Beth?" was all the man asked her approaching her vehicle, "You're not really going to shoot an unarmed Good Samaritan like me are you?"
Reaching for her fob, Beth popped her trunk with one hand. Her gun still in the other. If he was here to help her she was going to accept the offer.
Lifting the spare tire out of Beth's vehicle the stranger set to work. First, he leaned the tire against the side of the vehicle. Then, he knelt down on the ground so he could work. He loosened the lug nuts and placed the jack under the car so he could raise the vehicle up until the blown tire was off the ground.
He wiggled it off the vehicle and placed the good tire where the bad one had been. He put the lug nuts back where they belonged and tightened them. Finally, he lowered the car back down to the ground and extracted his jack. Singing "I've Been Working On The Railroad" the entire time.
Beth just stood back and watched his efforts. What no good could this stalker have in mind? She tried to reason, knowing he had not followed her all this way simply to change her tire. She closely watched him walk back behind his vehicle and return his jack to its rightful storage place. He slammed the trunk shut and turned to face Beth.
"Oh, by the way, Beth," he nonchalantly said reaching into the right rear pocket of the jeans he wore, "I almost forgot. This notification is what brought me out here after you."
He handed Beth the folded paper. Still not trusting him, Beth took it out of his hand and unfolded it. She read the contents. She could not believe the writing.
"It's all there in black and white, Beth," the process server informed her, then stated, "my employer, Andrew Pozzuto, LLD, represents Cody's Seventh Cousin, and only known living relative. He awaits the boy's arrival. We trust you will ensure his immediate safe return to Palo Pinto."
Beth's first inclination was to wad the paper up and shove it down the man's throat or stuff it up another part of his lower anatomy.
Noticing her anguish he coldly told her, "And, by the way, Beth, the proceedings are valid. It's time for Cody to come home. Where he belongs."
With that he climbed back into his car. Heading east, he quickly disappeared leaving Beth standing there stunned.
Staring through his field glasses, Deputy Taylor could not be more pleased. He had seen what he wanted to see. The whole spectacle he had orchestrated. Now he would bring Werner in for questioning.
On the far side of Astatula, at the Health Spa, Victim Number Five of the Astatula Assassin would soon be discovered.
| Author Notes |
In a shocking development, Cody's long lost relative appears on the scene.
And, wants him returned back to Palo Pinto. This is Evan, by lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks, Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
"I told you before you ever got involved with that troublemaker he was no good!" the excited, loud words jubilantly rushed out of Deputy Taylor's mouth upon his arrival at the Sheriff's Office.
Gleefully, he noticed Cody sitting on the steel rack in the cell Sheriff Daniels had placed the little munchkin in. The sad expression on Cody's face was long. His pitiful puppy dog eyes, heartbreaking as they were, clearly depicted the exact way the boy felt. Cody looked like a scolded dog with its tail tightly tucked between its hind legs. If the boy was playing the sympathy card Sheriff Daniels was not buying the act.
However, Cody would not give Deputy Taylor, who he could not stand, the satisfaction of seeing him cry. Although, that was what he was doing way down deep inside. Cody was humiliated to be seen in a jail cell. He had never been arrested before.
He wondered to himself "Was it his fault that old barn needed a fresh coat of paint to liven up its dried out exterior and make the structure more appealing to the eye?"
Then, he questioned himself, "Was it right for the Sheriff to charge him with vandalism, like some juvenile delinquent, for doing so?"
The boy's one-sided conversation in his mind continued with, "Your guardian is going way too far in arresting you. Besides," he hesitated for a moment, wanting to know, "where was Matt? He was in on this crime, too."
Cody had always been told, "What's good for the goose is certainly good for the gander."
Some of the best conversations Cody had were the ones where he talked to himself. Occasionally, he even answered his own questions.
Sheriff Daniels sat at his desk examining the case file he had in his hand. If Cody needed a little tough loving that was precisely what the boy was going to get. The Sheriff would then ensure his young ward sincerely apologized to Old Man Penzler for what he had done to his property, and repaint the farmer's dilapidated, run-down barn any color he wanted it. No matter how long it took the boy to complete the task.
Passing the file he had been holding in his hand to Deputy Taylor, Sheriff Daniels instructed him, "This Warner Case ought to keep you busy for a while, Fred. Bring him in for questioning again. Something about his alibi the night he was detained does not ring true to me."
Deputy Taylor took the file from the Sheriff. He would rather deal with Cody and told the Sheriff, "I'll be more than happy to run that one to any facility you want me to, Brock."
Pausing for dramatic effect, he pointed his finger directly at Cody before finishing his comment with, "The sooner he is out of Potter County the better off we'll all be. He's nothing but a burden from way back. I knew it the first time I laid my eyeballs on him. I can spot them a mile away."
"I will handle Cody," Sheriff Daniels calmly replied.
Sheriff Daniels knew there was no love lost between Deputy Taylor and the boy. They simply did not like each other. Deputy Taylor had never explained the reason for his animosity towards Cody, and, Sheriff Daniels did not want to open that can of worms again. Especially not today. He had plenty of office work to do, which tended to sour his disposition as it was.
Cody wanted to tell Deputy Taylor, "Go make yourself useful and do what Sheriff Daniels gave you to do, Fredericka."
But, for as much trouble as he was in, Cody knew he better not say what he was thinking.
He had another thought on his mind he was afraid to vocalize, "Would the Sheriff really send him away?"
The notion terrified Cody.
He knew he would never vandalize anything else ever again. He quickly learned there are many other ways for a boy to have a good time than by destroying something that belonged to somebody else. He remained silent and still. As Sheriff Daniels gave Cody a stern look Deputy Taylor departed the Sheriff's Office to tend to the assignment he received from the Sheriff.
Cody started sniffling.
He thought to himself, "What if my guardian doesn't want me any more just because I made a stupid mistake?"
Cody was very sad. He could feel the dam about to burst wide open.
"Sheriff Daniels is the best thing life has ever offered you," his conscience told him.
Cody could not disagree with that statement. He only hoped he had not blown all the chances he would ever have of finding happiness over some dumb decision he made while he and Matt were out wilding. After all, Matt had dared Cody to graffiti Old Man Penzler's barn. He also supplied the spray can used to do so.
Sitting in his cell, Cody's mind kept racing a mile a minute and he considered, "Some times, maybe, he and Matt did carry their zany antics slightly too far."
Cody tried to slow the race cars circling the track in his mind, like they were rapidly approaching the finish line at the Indianapolis 500, down. With all these thoughts and ideas popping up all over the place, his head was spinning like a tilt-a-whirl.
Failing to do so, Cody knew he would prefer one of his father's worst, savage beatings over the notion his guardian no longer wanted him. It would hurt a lot less.
The cold, empty jail cell made Cody wish he and Matt had gone to the library for books to read. Like they were supposed to have done in the first place. Not sneak off to Miller's Cave, where they weren't supposed to be. But, most of all, he wished he had never encountered that lonesome barn that called their names out loud.
Cody reached up and wiped the water out of his eyes. Sheriff Daniels stood there silently observing the boy. It was A-Lesson-He-Would-Never-Forget learning time for Cody.
| Author Notes |
This is the first part of two parts of this section.
The rest of this portion of my book is known as Jailbirds. Enjoy both today! All chapters of my book are very easily accessible. All you have to do is go to the top of this page. There you will find blue numbers. Click on them at will. And, enjoy what you find. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Sheriff Daniels made his way to his desk. He opened a drawer, extracting another file. He placed the manila folder on top of his desk, and closed the drawer. He picked up the receiver of his office telephone, and dialed a number he knew all too well.
It was 7:30 on the am side of the dial. Time to bring Matt Cochran into custody. Soon, he too, would join the morning's festivities.
The Sheriff thought to himself, "It is so good to be the law in Astatula!"
But, these were two arrestees Sheriff Daniels never thought he would ever make. A day in an unlocked cell, under his watchful eye, was the prescription the doctor ordered for both of these little culprits he cared so much about.
Neither one of them needed to know he had spoken to Old Man Penzler, or that no charges would be filed against either boy. A little time to think now would go a long way in preventing Cody and Matt from picking a Warden's Bouquet later.
Sheriff Daniels poured himself another cup of piping hot java. He liked it strong and black. He dared not allow Cody to see the smile on his face. With a mountain of work to attend to, he awaited the arrival of his other guest.
Matt's father brought him into the Sheriff's Office. The boy did not realize he was in cahoots with the Sheriff. Matt was surprised to see Cody sitting in a cell and gave him a quizzical look.
Sheriff Daniels immediately instructed Matt to place his hands behind his back because he was under arrest for vandalism.
Matt looked shocked by what the Sheriff said, and turned to his father for help.
"Dad, do something, please!" he plead to no avail, whining, "I don't want to go to jail!"
"What do you want me to do, Matt?" his father casually asked him.
"I don't know," Matt answered him, then said, "tell Sheriff Daniels not to arrest me!"
Unsympathetically, his father replied, "You should have thought about the consequences of your actions before you and Cody vandalized Penzler's barn, son."
For good measure he told him, "You did the crime. You can certainly do the time."
Matt stood there taking it all in. He was not sure what he should do.
His father continued with, "You heard the Sheriff, son. Better do what you were told to do and put your hands behind your back. You wouldn't want to add resisting arrest to your Rap Sheet would you?"
Feeling hopelessly lost, Matt softly responded, "No, sir. I wouldn't."
He slowly placed his hands behind his back.
Sheriff Daniels grasped him by the upper right arm and led him to the cell opposite Cody's where the two boys could stare at each other.
"In you go now, Matt," Sheriff Daniels told him.
Matt looked back at his father one last time and stepped inside the cell.
Sheriff Daniels closed the door behind him.
With a silent nod, Matt's father departed the Sheriff's Office, leaving his son to stew in his own juices.
"You two hooligans sit here and think real long and hard about why you're in jail," Sheriff Daniels firmly instructed the boys, telling them, "you are not to do anything else."
Knowing he had their attention, he added, "I have a lot of work to do today, and I best not hear as much as the slightest, single, solitary, littlest peep out of either one of you. Because if I do, you're both going into Solitary Confinement. Do I make myself perfectly clear, Matt?"
Matt tenderly sat on his metal bunk. He was on the verge of tears.
He politely responded to the Sheriff's question with, "Yes, sir. You won't hear one sound out of me. I'll be real good, and quiet, for you. I promise."
Sheriff Daniels looked at Cody and asked him, "Do you understand what I just said, Cody?"
There was no reply from the youngster.
So, a little more firmly, the Sheriff asked him again, "Do you understand what I just said to you, Cody?"
"Yes, sir," Cody responded with tears in his eyes. He quickly added, "I'm sorry for what I did."
"Nowhere near as sorry as the two of you are going to be!" the Sheriff sternly warned the boys, "Especially if you ever pull another stunt like this one again!"
Cody and Matt nodded their heads they understood the Sheriff's message loud and clear.
They replied, "Yes, sir!"
He then repeated himself once again, saying, "Not one sound out of either one of you! I have a lot of work to get done and I will not tolerate interruptions today!"
Still seated on their bunks, the boys responded in unison, "Yes, sir."
They looked at each other. Neither one of them could believe they were caged jailbirds and their wings had been clipped. The morning crept by ever so slowly for Cody and Matt. Each torturous second they silently sat in their cells seemed like an eternity.
Instead of being outside running free, and playing like boys their age should be, they were locked away in a place they did not want to be. Sheriff Daniels steadily worked, and watched them, until noon.
At lunch time he fed his two special prisoners a ham and cheese sandwich. He provided them a glass of milk to wash their food down with. When they were finished eating, he opened both of their unlocked cell doors.
Cody and Matt bolted out of their cells faster than greased lightning striking. They ran straight to the Sheriff and hugged him tightly like they would never turn him loose.
Finally, Sheriff Daniels told them, "Let's go. You two have a barn to paint."
Cody and Matt could not wait to leave the Sheriff's Station. Sitting in complete silence all morning, and being locked up in a cell, had taught them both the lesson Sheriff Daniels wanted them to learn. He knew they would never see the inside of prison walls again.
The Sheriff, and the eighty-six-year-old Penzler, sat comfortably in wicker rocking chairs on the wooden porch of Penzler's modest shack. They spent the leisurely afternoon drinking ice cold lemonade and whiling away the day in pleasant conversation.
They watched as the shirtless Cody, with the sun's rays warming up his back, and reddening his shoulders, as well as the barefoot Matt, toiled in the blazing hot Texas heat.
The boys painted the best looking barn Astatula had ever seen. Just like the Sheriff told them better be the end result of their hard labor...if they bloody well knew what was good for them!
The boys knew all too well what was good for them.
| Author Notes |
This is Part Two of this section of my book.
It concludes Warden's Bouquet. I am intentionally trying to keep the posted sections shorter. It appears too many FanStorians lose interest if a story is more than 750 to 1,000 words long. In this final portion of this section, Cody and Matt are given a tough love lesson by Sheriff Daniels. If that is what it takes to get a message through a child's mule-thick, stubborn head, do it. To read all the previous chapters of Astatula, as many of you are asking me where to find them, simply go to the top of the page. There you will find blue numbers. Click on them as the spirit moves you. And, enjoy what you find. Much more of this story to come. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Known as the most effective lawman in Texas, Sheriff Daniels reputation was widespread throughout the Lone Star State. His casual style was homey and sprinkled with plenty of small town wisdom. His pursuit of justice was honest, true and fair.
Extensively rummaging through his storage room he found orange-striped jumpers small enough to fit his two special charges. Seldom had he ever had prisoners as young as the boys. However, before he was done providing them the royal treatment, he would have their mug shots snapped as well. He might even post their portraits on the wall so everyone could see their smiling faces.
Cody and Matt removed their pullovers and jeans. Standing in their socks and undies, they replaced their clothes with the jailhouse jumpers Sheriff Daniels provided them. The boys neatly folded their clothes as the Sheriff instructed them to do. They handed them to the Sheriff. Their clothing would be returned later.
Sheriff Daniels stacked the boys clothes on the corner of his desk. He sat down and pulled a file out of the mountain of papers he needed to leaf through. An emotionally distraught Beth arrived at the station.
Casting a quick glance at Cody, Beth did not dare express her sentiment in front of him. She noticed Matt quietly stretched out on his bunk. She quickly hurried past them. Neither boy spoke as she walked by their cells. If they did, it was in a low whisper she could not hear.
Upon her arrival Sheriff Daniels laid his Polaroid Instamatic camera on his desk. It contained a fresh roll of film.
"What's with you, Sweetie?" he asked as soon as Beth walked into his office.
"Oh, Brock, it's horrible!" Beth tried to tell him.
"What's horrible, Beth?" he wanted to know, "Criminals are arrested every day." He was attempting humor with his statement.
Beth missed the context of what he said. She was much too worried about the legal document she held in her hand.
"There's no laughing matter here, Brock," Beth finally spilled the words out of her mouth. Although they did not want to escape easily.
Then she continued by saying, "We're going to lose Cody."
Overhearing his name spoken, Cody was all ears. He definitely wanted to know what Beth was talking about. So did Sheriff Daniels. Beth had their undivided attention.
Sheriff Daniels replied, "Whoa now, Sweetheart. That's not happening, Beth!"
"Here, Brock, read this," she told him handing the papers the Process Server had given her to the Sheriff.
Sheriff Daniels took the papers from Beth and began looking them over.
"It's a court order mandating that you immediately turn Cody over to some distant relative of his in Palo Pinto," Beth said as the Sheriff continued to read the papers.
Cody wanted out of his cell in a big way! What relative of his? As far as he knew he had no relatives. He never met any of them any way.
Sheriff Daniels kept reading the court order. He stopped when he reached the alleged relative's name.
"My word," he exclaimed in mock surprise.
Lost in deep thought he remarked, "The two time loser just got himself excreted out of the steel garden in Clayton."
Noticing Beth was not following his statement the Sheriff continued speaking, telling her, "Rickie Wolford is a convicted Chomo."
"What are you talking about, Brock?" Beth inquired knowing, "A Chomo?" she asked confused by what the Sheriff said, "What's that?"
Cody also heard Sheriff Daniels comment. He had no idea who Rickie Wolford was. But he wanted nothing to do with this so-called relative of his who had been in prison.
"Beth, let me assure you this is still Astatula, and I am still the duly elected Sheriff here," Brock Daniels reiterated.
He opened up a .com website and added, "Stay with me on this one, Love. Cody isn't going anywhere near this child molester. That you can bet the farm on!"
Cody leaned back against the cold, grey cement wall of his cell. The Sheriff's comment about this relative being a child molester brought back a flood of painful memories of his father. No way did he want to relive those agonizing nightmares again!
Beth's emotional pendulum rapidly swung from distress to anger upon hearing Rickie Wolford's rap sheet.
"He's served thirteen years for his taste in little boys," the Sheriff informed her.
"I agree. Cody's not going anywhere near that pervert!" Beth strongly stated, then heatedly uttered a threat, "It'll be over my dead body! This mama bear's packing heat!"
"Don't go getting melodramatic on me, Beth," Sheriff Daniels calmly replied.
She looked at him in silence.
"I'll talk to Judge Stancil in his chambers on Monday and let him sort out all the riff-raff," the Sheriff assured her.
Cody grew quieter than he had been. Dejectedly, he considered running away. Living off the fat of the land. That way he would not be a burden to anybody. He knew how hard Sheriff Daniels would paddle his canoe for even thinking something like that. He belonged in Astatula.
The Sheriff had once told him, "You don't run away from your problems, Little Man. You face them head-on. And, you overcome them."
Shoeless, and with holes in the heels of both of his white socks, Matt was curled up on his bunk sawing logs.
Cody had no concept how this situation would play out.
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels and Beth discuss the court order mandating Cody's return to a distant relative in Palo Pinto.
Knowing the convict's rap sheet will they be forced to comply? All chapters of my book can easily be accessed by clicking on the blue numbers at the top of this page. Enjoy! A whole lot of FanStorians are. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
The popular Daytime Soap Opera Living Life just began airing when Stephanie Martin of Channel 24 News cut into the broadcast with a Special Public Service Announcement.
"The Astatula Assassin has been captured!" she excitedly began her report going on to say, "Sheriff's Deputy Fred Taylor confirmed local farmer David Werner was apprehended at the Health Spa. The scene of the latest attack of this madman. Again, the Astatula Assassin has been captured! Join us at 5 o'clock for the latest update. We now return to our regularly scheduled programming."
Driving back to Astatula from the Texas Death Chamber at the Walls Unit in Huntsville, Sheriff Daniels and Beth looked at each other with quizzical expressions on their faces. They were listening to Willie's Roadhouse when Don Albritton announced a similar report about the capture of the Astatula Assassin over the radio.
"David Werner is the Astatula Assassin?" Beth questioned the validity of that accusation more than the Sheriff stating, "He's lived here all his life."
"Still farms his old man's spread," Sheriff Daniels responded not sure he believed the accusation either, "got those forty acres out by the canyon. He and Doris are two of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet."
"Poor Doris," Beth replied thinking of Werner's wife, "there's no telling how she feels right now. Shocked. I'm sure. They've been pillars of this community for years."
"Well, if Werner is the Astatula Assassin that's a big relief, Sweetie," Sheriff Daniels commented, "now maybe we can all get back to more stability. I do believe Astatula's been in an uproar long enough about this lunatic."
"And maybe we can get back to spending a little more quality time with Cody," Beth remarked thinking about the boy they had left with Buzz Cochran while they were gone.
She remembered the package she had placed in the trunk of the Sheriff's car before departing Toy World in Huntsville.
Beth found herself missing Cody and added, "He's going to be so surprised by that new XBox we got him."
"Little Man's been working extra hard around the station lately," Sheriff Daniels replied, "and the boy deserves a small reward once in a while."
Beth looked at the Sheriff.
"Do you think we spoil him too much Brock?" she asked popping the tab on a Diet Pepsi can and taking a sip of her favorite soda.
"Not if you ask him we don't," Sheriff Daniels quipped saying, "Besides. I kind of enjoy giving him little treats."
"Me too," Beth remarked settling more comfortably in her seat, "I never knew how much fun having a rugrat in the house could be."
A deer was spotted on the shoulder of the highway they traveled. As they approached the animal Sheriff Daniels pointed it out to Beth. Quickly it disappeared into the cluster of trees it had come out of and the Sheriff negotiated a sharp curve in the road.
"If we could just break Cody of his infamous "Things like this ain't supposed to happen to boys like me" train of thought every time we give him something special I would feel so much better," Beth admitted, "but, I don't know how to stop him from feeling that way."
"Cody appreciates all we do for him Beth," Sheriff Daniels said, "but, you have to remember what few toys he was even allowed to play with in Palo Pinto his father smashed to smithereens before he beat him. Cody's slowly learning it's okay for him to have his own things."
"I'd like to smash Earl Anthony Schroder into tiny little pieces of nothing!" Beth bluntly replied to the Sheriff's comment. The anger apparent as she spoke.
"Then it's a very good thing for him that he's dead Beth. Because you would be first in line after me," Sheriff Daniels confirmed.
He looked at Beth and wondered how this vision of loveliness sitting beside him could be so understanding.
Then he said, "All we can do now is teach Cody there is a much better life out there for him than he ever dreamed possible going through the nightmares he lived through in Palo Pinto."
"I wonder how Cody and Matt have gotten along these last couple of days?" Beth curiously asked changing the subject to a more pleasant topic.
"Knowing Buzz Cochran the way I do I'm sure he's kept both of them in a very straight line Beth," the Sheriff replied, "he's more than capable of handling two rambunctious ten-year-olds like those two little monkeys."
"They're both good kids Brock," Beth interjected her feelings about the boys into their conversation.
"Put a football in Matt's hand and he's a happy camper," the Sheriff said, "you know, I was there the night he was delivered. Back before Janice ran away with that much younger truck driver."
"I didn't know she did that Brock," Beth casually mentioned, "I guess you never told me about either one of those situations before."
"He was eight years younger than her," Sheriff Daniels continued his story, "they went to El Paso. Moved on to Reno. Not a word out of her since."
"How long ago was that Brock?" Beth wanted to know.
"Four years almost to the day Sweetie," the Sheriff answered her, "now they are two bachelors better off on their own without her meddling into their affairs."
"How could any mother not want her child?" Beth wondered out loud saying," I'll never understand that kind of thinking."
"I know two," was all Sheriff Daniels said.
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels and Beth take a trip to the Texas Death Chamber where the Sheriff confronts the Green Belt Slayer who murderer the mother of his son.
Will he get the confession he has sought for more than ten years before the killer is executed? This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Driving past the Astatula City Limits sign Sheriff Daniels mind was back in Huntsville. It had been a long time coming and the circumstances could not have been worse. Watching a convict die was not an easy experience. Even if they had butchered the mother of your son in cold blood like the Green Belt Slayer did so many years ago.
Sheriff Daniels made this long arduous trip for a very specific reason - he had to. For Diane's sake - and for Tyler's. He had to look Ernesto Guttierrez in the eye one last time. He needed to hear the Green Belt Slayer confess to murdering Diane Crews. For eleven long years the killer steadfastly refused to do so. Although he readily admitted to all of his other horrendous crimes.
It was only in the Visitors Room on Death Row, and after a professional courtesy extended to the Sheriff by Warden Tyrone Karlyle, that he got to the Green Belt Slayer. Knowing his lethal injection awaited him the condemned murderer stared Sheriff Daniels, the lawman who brought him to justice, in the eye. Hatred shone forth.
With a slight laugh Guttierrez admitted, "Se Senor. I slaughtered the little piggy. But the very best sound of all was hearing her scream in terror!"
He snorted twice, "Oink! Oink!"
Sheriff Daniels immediately leaped out of his chair. It took all the resolve he could muster, and being securely restrained by three prison guards the size of NFL Linemen, to prevent the Sheriff from strangling the life out of the Green Belt Slayer himself.
"You pathetic son-of-a-b----!" Sheriff Daniels snapped in pure hatred of the monster shackled to the chair before him.
In the Execution Chamber Guttierrez was tightly strapped down on the gurney where he would die. The legal dose of pentobarbital began flowing through the tube into the vein in his arm snuffing out his worthless existence. Sheriff Daniels made sure he was the last thing the Green Belt Slayer saw before leaving this world.
"This is for Diane...and for Tyler!" Sheriff Daniels told Guttierrez before he closed his eyes in death.
Turning right on Cassandra Boulevard and making his way to the Sheriff's Office he said, "One down. One to go."
"I'm sorry Brock. What was that?" Beth asked him as the Sheriff stopped the vehicle in front of his office.
"Time to wrap up the Astatula Assassin case Sweetie," the Sheriff replied.
"And for us to get back to some semblance of a normal life again," Beth remarked stretching from the long ride back to Astatula.
"For us Love?" Sheriff Daniels asked her then stated, "Life is anything but normal."
No sooner did Sheriff Daniels arrive at the Sheriff's Station than he noticed four gruff men standing in the middle of Cassandra Boulevard. The tall, rail-thin, redheaded one held a rope in his hand he appeared to fashion into a noose.
Sheriff Daniels exited his car in a hurry. He rapidly approached the men. They greeted him politely.
The redhead offered the Sheriff a suggestion, "Why don't you get back in your car and take Beth home Sheriff? And leave that murdering Werner to us to handle for you. Seems a little tree dancing is in order for him!"
As was his habit Sheriff Daniels looked the freckled-faced man in the eye.
"There's not going to be any Old West vigilante justice or necktie parties on my watch Charlie," he solemnly told him then instructed the four of them, "go on home now and let the legal system run its course."
"He killed five of our friends here in Astatula Sheriff," the redhead replied not sure he wanted to comply with the instructions he had been given. Then he said, "Stringing him up will teach him a real good lesson!"
"Charlie, I am not going to tell you again," Sheriff Daniels warned him once more, "unless you want what I just witnessed in Huntsville go home!"
The redhead loosened his rope. He recoiled it in his hand.
Turning to Sheriff Daniels he said, "Aw, Sheriff. You never let us have any fun."
One of his compadres mentioned, "That's all right Charlie. Doris is out there at her place all alone."
To that comment the Sheriff responded in a stern warning tone, "Boys, if one hair on her head is as much as out of place when I go visit her later I will come hunting bear myself! CAPICE?"
The Sheriff's unmistakable tone was easy for them to understand. They quickly got the message.
"One final warning gentlemen," the Sheriff said evenly, "go home!"
They departed the premises. Sheriff Daniels walked back to the car to open the door so Beth could get out. A young fresh-faced reporter with short sandy brown hair, who worked for Channel Four News, approached the Sheriff. His microphone in hand.
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels and Beth arrive back in Astatula after confronting the Green Belt Slayer.
Immediately the fallout from the arrest of the Astatula Assassin confronts the Sheriff. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
"Sheriff Daniels!" the curly-haired youngster called his name.
Tommy Lancaster could not be more than 21-years-old and the Sheriff recognized him right away.
"What can you tell us about the capture of the Astatula Assassin?" the reporter finished his inquiry.
"How long have I known you Tommy?" the Sheriff asked him in turn.
The reporter's cheeks turned pink, and embarrassed by the Sheriff's question, he kicked the ground.
Then replied, "All my life."
Sheriff Daniels patted Tommy on top of his right shoulder and promised him, "Tell you what Tommy. When I have something to report I'll give you the exclusive. But for now how about letting me get to my office so I can interview David Werner?"
Tommy knew the Sheriff was a man of his word. Reluctantly, he would wait for the promised exclusive. He lowered his microphone and covered its mouthpiece with one hand.
Then he said, "I'll be waiting Sheriff. And, a, by the way, Sheriff. It's Tom now, not Tommy."
Sheriff Daniels replied, "To me you will always be Tommy. Any superstar shortstop on the Astatula Sluggers Little League team who batted .317 with just 2 errors deserves an exclusive don't you think?"
Tommy knew Sheriff Daniels would always remember that magic season of not so long ago. After all, the Sheriff managed the undefeated Regional Championship team.
Sheriff Daniels started walking away from Tommy when he remembered something else he wanted to tell him.
He turned back to Tommy and said, "Oh, and tell your momma three of us will be down at Miss Myrtle's Good Tymes Cafeteria for dinner tonight."
"Yes, sir," Tommy answered him back.
"She's still got those shrimp doesn't she?" Sheriff Daniels wondered stating, "Cody just loves those things. And, Beth tells me the antipasto is to die for."
"You want a flatiron?" Tommy asked the Sheriff knowing he was defeated and there was no way Sheriff Daniels would answer any questions about the Astatula Assassin at the moment.
"Medium-rare every time Kiddo," the Sheriff winked.
"Yes, sir. I'll tell momma to expect you," Tommy replied.
His cameraman smiled at him with a cat-that-ate-the-canary smirk on his face.
"Maybe Sheriff Daniels should also change your diapers for you?" he good-naturedly teased Tommy after the Sheriff was out of hearing range.
"Shut up!" a dejected Tommy responded.
He really had wanted Sheriff Daniels to answer his question about the Astatula Assassin.
The Sheriff knew by the reception he received upon returning home his hands would be full of curious onlookers questioning him about the Astatula Assassin and protecting the killer until he could be brought to trial.
It was all in a day's work for him though.
Opening his office door Sheriff Daniels mind immediately went to another matter that needed addressing. What was he going to do about the pedophile Rickie Wolford's demand that he turn Cody over to him? He knew Judge Stancil would resolve that situation post haste. Monday could not get here soon enough.
| Author Notes |
Upon returning to Astatula from watching the Green Belt Slayer's execution Sheriff Daniels is confronted by a young reporter questioning him about the Astatula Assassin.
The matter of what would happen as a result of the court order he had been presented demanding he turn Cody over to a long lost relative, who was also a pedophile, was still pending. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Sheriff Daniels arrived at the Lacroix Jewelry Store. Entering through the sliding electronic doors, all at once he spotted Cody standing in the middle of an aisle with his back to him. Jonathan Lacroix was seated on a bench near the opposite end of the aisle Cody stood in.
Fast approaching Cody, and walking like he had a purpose, Sheriff Daniels placed his hand on top of the unsuspecting boy's blond head. Quickly he spun Cody around so they were face to face.
Sternly he snapped, "I haven't plucked your tail feathers in quite a while but maybe that is exactly what you need me to do for you, young man. Pluck them one at a time!"
"Why, Sheriff?" What did I do wrong?" a startled Cody asked.
"How dare you come into this store, or any other store for that matter, and shoplift anything?" Sheriff Daniels demanded.
Almost in tears Cody responded, "I didn't shoplift anything, Sheriff. Judge Stancil told me I have to be good or he's going to send me back to Palo Pinto."
Producing a gold chain Cody asked the Sheriff, "Do you think Beth will like this necklace with the tiger charm on it?"
Observing the whole scene, Jonathan Lacroix laughed heartily.
He asked Sheriff Daniels, "Cody shoplifting?"
"That's funny," he said.
Then he finished his comment with, "Who fed you that can of worms, Sheriff?"
"Fred Taylor," Sheriff Daniels answered the shopkeeper.
"Then Deputy Taylor is full of prunes!" Lacroix informed the Sheriff saying, "Cody has been in here the better part of the last hour. I haven't detained him for anything. Especially shoplifting."
Perplexed, Sheriff Daniels looked at Lacroix.
"In fact," the store owner continued, "Cody has been helping me stock shelves and has been keeping me company while diligently searching for a special birthday present for Beth he could afford out of the allowance he has been saving up."
The parameters changed for Sheriff Daniels.
"I think Beth will like that necklace just fine, Cody," the Sheriff told the boy clearly seeing the picture, "so, go ahead and pay Mr. Lacroix and let's go. Beth will have lunch ready when we get home."
Cody pulled a ten dollar bill out of the front pocket of his bluejeans. It was all the money he had saved up. He attempted to hand the money to Mr. Lacroix. The merchant refused to accept the payment from him.
"You've given me almost an hour's honest labor, Cody. Without that I could not have gotten all this merchandise on the shelf," Lacroix told him, "you put your money back in your pocket where it belongs. You've already more than paid me for that necklace with all your hard work."
Getting up off his seat he said to Cody, "Not only that but I'll gift wrap it for you too. Then we'll be even."
Cody handed Mr. Lacroix the necklace and waited until he boxed the jewelry and wrapped it in silver paper.
Placing a red bow on top of the box Lacroix turned to Sheriff Daniels and asked him, "Any other questions, Sheriff?"
"No, sir, Mr. Lacroix," the Sheriff replied stating, "in fact, you have cleared some things up."
Handing the present to Cody, Lacroix said, "Thanks again for all your efforts, Cody. I really appreciate everything you've done for me. You helped me out a lot."
"Thank you, Mr. Lacroix," Cody replied cradling the box in his hand.
"Beth is definitely going to like that special little gift of yours, Cody," Sheriff Daniels stated.
With that the Sheriff led Cody out of the store. There were plenty of things he realized Fred Taylor misled him about. Cody's alleged shoplifting being one of them. Approaching his squad car, Sheriff Daniels noticed a couple of calling cards had been left behind. First he observed the driver-side front door window had been shattered.
Upon further examination he discovered an extremely large and smelly cow patty lay on the driver's seat. The question was did the on-dash camera capture the culprit's image?
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels confronts Cody about an alleged shoplifting.
He learns Deputy Taylor has misled him about several matters. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Sheriff Daniels and Cody climbed the six cement steps leading up to the courthouse for their long anticipated meeting with Judge Stancil. Janelle Pyle, the judge's judicial assistant, signed them in on the visitors log she kept on her desk.
"Have a seat and make yourselves comfortable," she encouraged them. "Judge Stancil will be available shortly. He's expecting you Sheriff."
She buzzed the Judge's chambers on the office intercom and informed the magistrate of the Sheriff's presence. Cody, fidgeting in his chair, seemed nervous. The size of the courtroom overwhelmed him. Or maybe it was the nature of the reason they were there that troubled him.
"Would he have to return to Palo Pinto to a stranger he did not know?" he worried to himself.
"What would happen to him if he did?" the thought occurred to him.
The longer they sat there waiting for the Judge the more antsy Cody became. He did not want to leave the Sheriff who had done so much for him. And he certainly did not want to live with someone who had been in prison for molesting boys. A far distant relative or not.
Sheriff Daniels had another little discussion with him that morning before they arrived at the courthouse . He wanted to make sure Cody understood what Rickie Wolford served all those years locked up for.
Cody knew too well what the Sheriff meant when he talked about "somebody touching him in the wrong way".
He also knew what the phrase "pleasuring themselves" indicated because Earl Anthony Schroder had left his calling card behind in the nightmares Cody frequently had from what his father did to him.
Desperately, Cody hoped Judge Stancil would make this situation all better and he would never have to go through those awful experiences ever again.
Cody looked at the clock up on the wall behind Janelle Pyle's desk. It was 9 o'clock when he and the Sheriff arrived at the courthouse. Now it was 9:02. Sitting there waiting like they were Cody felt like two hours had past.
"What's taking so long to see the Judge?" he asked the Sheriff.
"Relax, Little Man," the Sheriff calmly replied honing in on how nervous Cody appeared to be, :"when you come to a place like this it's always hurry up...and wait."
The intercom on Janelle Lyle's desk sounded. She was informed by Judge Stancil to send the Sheriff and Cody back to his chambers.
Standing up the Sheriff asked Cody, "Are you ready, Little Man?"
Cody tightly hugged the Sheriff around his waist. Sheriff Daniels hugged him back.
"Now for the moment of truth," Sheriff Daniels stated asking Cody once again, "are you ready, Little Man?"
"No," Cody simply replied telling the Sheriff, "I'm scared! What if the Judge says I have to go back to Palo Pinto? I don't want to go!"
Cody started crying.
The Sheriff wiped the tears out of Cody's eyes.
Comforting him he said, "Come on, Little Man. No negative thinking allowed here. Somehow we're going to make this right. Let's go find out what the Judge has to say. Okay?"
"No," Cody replied, meaning it was not okay, "but we have to," he reluctantly stated.
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels and Cody meet with Judge Stancil to decide Cody's future.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Opening the door so Sheriff Daniels and Cody could pass through Janelle Lyle stated, "Judge Stancil will see you now. The last door at the end of the hallway. Good luck, Sheriff."
As Cody walked in front of Sheriff Daniels down the narrow corridor leading to the Judge's chambers he wondered if Lady Luck would be on his side that day? Not knowing what to expect once they arrived at their destination Cody hoped Judge Stancil would not make him go back to this unknown relative who had mysteriously appeared from out of the blue. But the story of his life had always been he would.
Judge Stancil sat stoically behind his hand-carved hickory desk. The first thing Cody noticed about the Judge was the crown of snow-white crew-cut hair that adorned his head.
To Cody the prominent feature presented by the Judge indicated perhaps he would consider all the facts and not render a hasty decision. Cody's future rested on convincing Judge Stancil he belonged in Astatula. Could he make the Judge listen to what he had to say?
Upon entering his chambers Judge Stancil invited Sheriff Daniels and Cody to have a seat so the hearing could begin. They did without delay. Immediately Cody saw the dreaded folder in the Judge's hand.
Anxiously he told himself, "This is not looking good."
Cody recalled the last time he witnessed a black leather folder that resembled the one Judge Stancil looked at. He was being sent away - to Astatula. Cody felt his heart sink deep inside him.
Cutting his penetrating grey eyes to Cody the Judge asked him, "How do you like living with Sheriff Daniels, Cody?"
Cody smiled broadly. That was an easy question for him to answer.
"Sheriff Daniels is the best thing that ever happened to me, sir," he unhesitatingly replied in all sincerity to the Judge's question.
Cody's response made Sheriff Daniels proud.
Judge Stancil then asked Cody, "Have you been a good boy for the Sheriff?"
Cody was not sure how to answer that one and remained quiet.
Judge Stancil continued, "Sheriff Daniels is a very busy man. He has a lot to do to protect all of us here in Astatula."
A slight pause for affect and the Judge finished his comment by telling Cody, "He does not need any foolishness out of you."
Cody sensed there had to be a point Judge Stancil was making. Waiting for its arrival he said, "I try to be good."
"See that you do not mislead me again, Cody!" Judge Stancil warned him.
"Yes, sir. I won't," Cody quickly responded.
Judge Stancil folded his arms in front of him. He placed them on top of his desk. Slowly he leaned forward. It was then he glared at Cody with a heated look that pierced through him.
"Deputy Taylor tells me you recently spent a morning in jail for vandalizing something that did not belong to you. What do you have to say for yourself about that incident, young man?" Judge Stancil demanded.
His tone made Cody understand the Judge expected an explanation for his devious actions.
Cody felt his goose being cooked to a crisp crackling pop!
"Palo Pinto here I come!" he wearily thought to himself.
Before Cody could respond to the Judge's question Sheriff Daniels pondered under his breath so he could not be heard, "Deputy Taylor? What's he got to do with any of this?"
"How did you enjoy being in jail, Cody?" Judge Stancil demanded knowing.
"I hated everything about it!" Cody responded remembering an experience he would never forget.
"Did you learn anything of value while you were there?" was the Judge's next question.
Something told Cody the Judge's questions weren't going to get any easier the more he grilled him.
Cody almost responded with, "Stick a fork in me I'm done!"
Instead he told Judge Stancil, "I learned never to do anything to go back to jail for again."
Frightened by the direction Judge Stancil's questions were leading him Cody did not know what to do so he looked at the Judge and asked him, "Are you going to send me back to Palo Pinto for what I did to that barn, sir?"
"I might!" Judge Stancil sternly told Cody pointing a warning finger at him and saying, "Unless you can give me a reason not to."
Judge Stancil's comment startled Cody.
Suddenly panic-striken Cody replied, "I'm sorry, sir. I promise I won't ever do anything like that again!"
Pausing to catch his fleeting breath a fear-filled Cody pled, "Please don't send me back to Palo Pinto! I don't want to go! I want to stay with Sheriff Daniels!"
Rambling on Cody vowed, "If you let me stay I promise I'll be the best boy in the whole wide world, sir! PLEASE!"
Judge Stancil hesitated for a moment. Watching Cody crumble he eased the intensity of the pressure off him. Noticing Cody was about hysterical he called the boy over to him.
Cody climbed out of his chair. Ever so slowly he moved over to Judge Stancil not knowing how much more he could take.
Unexpectedly, the Judge reached down and picked Cody up saying sympathetically, "Come here Cody."
He set him on his lap. He placed a comforting arm around Cody's shoulders and looked him in the eye.
| Author Notes |
Cody is grilled to the breaking point by Judge Stancil.
What will the end result of the hearing be? This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Once Cody was calmed down again Judge Stancil confided in him by saying, "You have requited yourself very well to this point Cody."
Reconsidering his tender years may not allow Cody to grasp what he had said Judge Stancil explained his comment to the boy.
"What I am telling you is that you have presented yourself very affirmatively in this hearing today," he complimented Cody.
"Thank you, sir," Cody replied then asked him, "What are you going to do with me?"
"You have told me everything I needed to hear Cody," Judge Stancil replied.
He looked the youngster in the eye. Their diamond blueness was dim.
Judge Stancil knew how to make them shine again.
He told Cody, "I expect you to keep your promise about properly behaving yourself. Because if you break your promise something is certainly going to happen."
Cody was all ears. Whatever Judge Stancil told him he would do. Especially if it meant he could stay in Astatula with Sheriff Daniels. Cody did not care what it was.
"What's going to happen, sir?" he asked Judge Stancil not expecting the answer he got.
"Mark my words young man," Judge Stancil strongly warned him, "I will send you back to Palo Pinto as fast as I can get you there. So help me Cody, I will!"
Cody did not like the sound of Judge Stancil's threat. He considered what the Judge told him for a moment. Then BOOM! a halogen lightbulb flashed inside his head.
Excitedly he exclaimed, "You mean I can stay with Sheriff Daniels?"
"I knew that would put the sparkle back in your blue eyes again," Judge Stancil smiled at Cody. Then added, "Yes you can stay in Astatula with Sheriff Daniels."
Cody could not be more ecstatic. A broad smile crossed his face.
Putting the boy down on the floor Judge Stancil told him "Cody, I want you to do something for me."
This was Cody's first opportunity to show the Judge how grateful he was for not sending him back to Palo Pinto.
Looking back at the Judge he asked "What's that, sir?"
"I want you to go out in my waiting room until I finish speaking with Sheriff Daniels," Judge Stancil answered him, "will you do that for me Cody?"
"It will be my happiness, sir," Cody replied and walked across the room.
Suddenly he stopped in his tracks and turned around. He could not help himself. Nor did he care if he got the brand new suit Beth bought him to wear to meet the Judge that morning all wrinkled up.
Cody bolted as fast as he could run right into the outstretched arms of the Judge. He hugged Judge Stancil tighter than he could remember hugging anyone else before. Cody did not know if he could keep the river of happy tears welling up inside him from bursting forth or if he would even try.
Turning to face Sheriff Daniels, Cody felt the long arm of justice firmly swat his posterior hard enough to grab his attention.
"I am not through speaking to you yet young man!" Judge Stancil sternly scolded Cody.
He turned back to face Judge Stancil.
He told Cody, "I meant what I said. You have special people in this town who care about you. You better show them you know how much they do!"
"I will, sir," Cody replied knowing that would be an easy task to accomplish, "I'll do anything I have to not to be sent back to Palo Pinto."
"Okay, Cody. Go out and wait for Sheriff Daniels now. He'll be there soon to get you," Judge Stancil instructed him.
"Yes, sir," Cody responded and left the Judge's chambers.
As he departed Judge Stancil called behind him, "Good boy!"
Then he addressed Sheriff Daniels telling him, "That's a mighty fine specimen you have there, Brock. Keep him on the straight and narrow."
Judge Stancil paused a moment before saying, "A morning in jail for vandalism? That was brilliant!. If only more parents cared about their children like that I would not see any cases of juvenile delinquency in my courtroom."
"Thank you, Your Honor for allowing Cody to remain with me," Sheriff Daniels replied.
"You keep a tight leash on that boy Brock," Judge Stancil told the Sheriff.
"That I assure you I will do Your Honor," Sheriff Daniels remarked, "Cody isn't going anywhere. He is very special to me."
"Everybody in Astatula knows how important Cody is to you, Brock. He is indeed one fortunate boy. He's wanted," Judge Stancil responded.
With great anticipation he further said, "I can not wait to sign those adoption papers. That one is going to warm my heart."
"Mine too," Sheriff Daniels admitted. He wondered why they had been delayed in their preparation?
"Now as far as this worthless piece of garbage is concerned," Judge Stancil began.
He picked up the paperwork the Process Server had given Beth Sorenson on Highway 42 the day he changed her flat tire.
"This is the worst example of a homemade court order I have seen in forty years on the bench," Judge Stancil confided.
Noticing the quizzical expression on the Sheriff's face Judge Stancil informed him, "It came off a computer Brock."
With a firmer tone he told Sheriff Daniels, "Charge-of-Quarters, Sheriff. Bring the ones behind this counterfeit fraud to me. I assure you they will be going to the yard for a long number of years. Compliments of yours truly!"
Judge Stancil handed the paperwork to the Sheriff.
Taking the papers from the Judge, Sheriff Daniels stated, "Your Honor, this one is on me!"
Sheriff Daniels knew what was contained on his bucket list and the order in which they fell. He wanted out of the courthouse. He wanted the Astatula Assassin case resolved. He definitely wanted the perpetrators behind this sham. But most of all he wanted Cody beside him where he belonged.
| Author Notes |
Cody's fate is decided after a grueling confrontation with Judge Stancil.
Sheriff Daniels receives a special Charge-of-Quarters from the Judge. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
"I'm not the Astatula Asssassin, Sheriff," David Werner told the lawman in the confines of the interrogation room.
"That's hard for me to believe Werner," Sheriff Daniels replied, "seeing how you were arrested rifling through the pocket of Julianne Shephard's blouse."
"I told you Sheriff. I was looking for a piece of paper," Werner responded as cool as a cucumber. The way he had been for the two hours Sheriff Daniels questioned him.
"Werner, I want to believe you. Really I do." Sheriff Daniels said, "But you have to give me something I can work with. All we have been doing is going around in circles like a spinning top."
Sheriff Daniels took a long swallow of cool water. He did not offer Werner any.
"Unlike this tumbler your story does not hold water," Sheriff Daniels reiterated one more time.
With a hard look he glared at the man sitting opposite him and said, "I just watched the Green Belt Slayer's execution in the same death chamber that awaits the Astatula Assassin. The only way I will be able to keep a needle out of your arm is if you start telling me the truth."
Werner considered what the Sheriff told him. Could he admit his guilt? He knew the fateful decision would ruin his long time marriage, tarnish his unblemished reputation, and most importantly there was Doris to consider. She would be devastated. He never cheated on her before Julianne Shephard came along.
The suspect wished the last six months never happened. There was no way he could go back and undo the wrong. Julianne Shephard entered his life in a moment of weakness with her wiles and charms. But he could not blame her for what the two of them did together. The question was could he undo the years of right he shared with Doris?
It was Doris who stood by his side ten years ago when a tornado swept through Potter County. The devastating twister blew their house apart. At that time Werner knew he did not have the strength to carry on. She saw him through rebuilding both their home and himself.
She did not deserve his infidelity. For what? A monthly tryst with a woman half her age because he was middle-aged crazy trying to prove he still could?
Sheriff Daniels wanted answers to the questions he asked Werner. To this point the farmer was reluctant to supply information. Finally Werner conceded.
"I'm a low-life, two-timing cheater, Sheriff," Werner admitted, "but I'm no murderer. I don't have killing in me. Just the thought of that tears me apart."
Then he said, "You have to believe me, Sheriff. I'm not your man."
Sheriff Daniels slowly shook his head in disbelief of Werner's confession. The years he had known the cornshucker were many.
Taking another sip of water he replied, "Give me your story straight Werner."
"I went to the Health Spa to tell Julianne I was ending our affair. She was dead when I got there," Werner began, "I was searching for the picture of me I knew she carried with her. She saw more in our relationship than I ever did."
He paused for a moment to reflect, "I couldn't let Doris know about that photograph. She's going to be devastated when she finds out what I've done."
"You've got to believe me Sheriff," Werner repeated himself detailing his crime of passion.
"You are right about one thing Werner," Sheriff Daniels responded, "Doris's world is going to shatter. She's a lot better woman than you deserve."
Werner looked back at the Sheriff. He could not disagree with the lawman's assessment. How was he going to tell his wife about stepping out of her?
With no evidence connecting Werner to the murders committed by the Astatula Assassin, although he wished he did, Sheriff Daniels heatedly told the farmer, "Go back to what you have left of a home Werner. Before I find a reason to change my mind."
"I almost wish you could Sheriff," Werner remarked knowing he did not have much of a future ahead of him. "At least that way I would still be somebody."
The interrogation room opened. Deputy Taylor entered the room. He exchanged heated glances with Werner. Both of them held reasons.
As Werner departed the room Sheriff Daniels demanded, "What do you want Fred?"
"That piss-ass little punk Schroder kid," Deputy Taylor disrespectfully responded, "got himself detained by Jonathan Lacroix at his jewelry store for shoplifting. Just thought you might want to know Brock."
Deputy Taylor paused a moment to allow a smirk of pleasure to crease his face.
Feeling generous he told Sheriff Daniels, "Seeing how you're wrapped up in so many other important matters at the moment I'll be glad to make the collar."
"Cody is my responsibility and from now on I will thank you to stay out of our affairs!" Sheriff Daniels strongly replied stating, "Whatever this is about I will take care of it."
He looked at Deputy Taylor and continued with, "As for you, you'd better get a real good lawyer. Effective immediately you are suspended pending investigation."
Sheriff Daniels held out his hand instructing Taylor, "I'll take your badge and your weapon."
Reluctantly, and in anger, Taylor turned their possession over to the Sheriff. Then in a vicious tone he vowed, "This ain't over Daniels! Not by a long shot!"
"It is for you Taylor," Sheriff Daniels fired back, "As of now you are relieved of all law enforcement obligations. I see a cell in your near future!"
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels interrogates the suspected Astatula Assassin.
He also relieves Deputy Taylor of his law enforcement obligations. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
"Miracles appear in the strangest of places. Fancy me finding you here," Merle Haggard was singing the words.
Or more correctly his popular song was blasting off the sound system in the Red Dog Saloon while Fred Taylor made love to another tonic and gin. His third of the evening.
Taylor determined to himself that he would "Figure out the path of least resistance," and the urge he felt was strong.
No longer the Deputy Sheriff of Astatula he spent the last week or so scoping out opportunities for revenge. The "humble pie" Sheriff Daniels found in his squad car was a start.
Before his little visit to the parking lot in front of Lacroix Jewelry Store, Taylor had retrieved his pictures from their secret hideaway in his desk at the Sheriff's Station.
"No stone left unturned," he told himself, "besides, every one of them was a fond memory."
"There was a little pest needing eradicating in the small town," Taylor decided and he knew the proper exterminator.
A couple more rounds and his fifth of courage would be exploding. One way or another this would be a job well done and he would restore the pride he lost when Sheriff Daniels canned him.
"Who does Sheriff Daniels believe himself to be any way?" Taylor let his mind wander, "Maybe there are two problems Astatula needed to be rid of one situation at a time."
Fred Taylor knew the old shack out behind the power station would be a good temporary holding pen. The dirt was nice and sandy back there. A dangerous combination. Forcing his captured pigeon to dig his own six-by-six would be a warm pleasure to Taylor's heart.
Vegas was the last time he experienced such an unfortunate turn of events. But nobody knew anything at all about that matter except him and the damsel in distress encased in the circle she dug herself. She was a runaway no one missed. If only she had met her quota such a nasty fate may not have befallen her. Que sera sera.
This one he would enjoy more. A strapping young specimen of the male persuasion. He never belonged in Astatula. He would never leave. Finished with his drink Taylor ordered another.
"All in good time," he reminded himself, "the early bird does not always get the worm."
Taylor knew the old adage "You always got more flies with honey."
For now the petit cocktail waitress serving him would make do for acceptable company until he made his move.
"There's a storm brewing," Sheriff Daniels informed Cody telling him, "I don't want you leaving the house tonight. I want you staying home."
"But, Sheriff, Matt only lives two doors down!" Cody moderately protested the lawman's decision then reminded him, "I've been there lots of times."
"You heard what I said, little man," Sheriff Daniels restated his comment, "you can sleep over at Matt's another night."
The Sheriff could see the disappointment in Cody's face. After hearing the local weather report on his station's radio monitor earlier that day he wanted Cody home. He knew the boys had planned several fun activities for the evening but they could wait for another day.
"Now go call Matt and tell him you can't make his slumber party tonight," the Sheriff said.
Cody hesitated. He really wanted to attend Matt's party badly. Several other local boys would be there.
Sheriff Daniels looked at his watch. They heard the skies rumbling overhead with thunder rolls.
"Since it's already 7 o'clock, and you have nowhere else to go, you might as well put your pjs on and get comfortable," Sheriff Daniels instructed Cody, saying, "Beth has ice cream for you in the parlor when you get there. It's chocolate. Your favorite."
Cody did not want ice cream. He wanted to go to Matt's party. He knew he should not disobey the Sheriff and there would be plenty of consequences if he did. On top of that Sheriff Daniels might not allow him to spend another night at Matt's house if he chose his own course of action.
Still, his heart was set on going to the party.
"Could he find a way to do so? Should he try? Or should he just go call Matt like he was told to do?" standing there talking to Sheriff Daniels these questions raced through Cody's mind.
He knew Matt would be as disappointed as he was that he backed out at the last moment. Cody also knew the other boys in town who would be there would tease him mercilessly about wimping out. Not a good way to make friends when you're trying to fit in someplace.
Ever so slowly Fred Taylor inched his vehicle closer and closer to 1517 Maid Marion Lane. Matt's house. All he needed to see was one little blond sight that would soon disappear.
Upstairs in his bedroom Cody knew how easy it was to slip out the backdoor of his house.
With the unknown danger lurking around the corner Cody thought to himself. "Would it really hurt to at least go over to Matt's for a little while?"
"Would Sheriff Daniels miss him if he did not stay gone for long?" he pondered trying to decide what he should do.
Quietly making his way back downstairs Cody slipped out the door careful not to let it slam behind him.
Oh no he didn't! Oh yes he did!
| Author Notes |
Matt is having a slumber party all the boys in Astatula will be attending including Cody.
At the last minute Sheriff Daniels tells Cody he can not go. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Fifteen minutes later while eating ice cream with Beth in the parlor, Sheriff Daniels wondered why Cody did not appear. The boy never passed up the opportunity for chocolate ice cream. Sheriff Daniels would give Cody a few more minutes before checking up on him in his bedroom.
The phone in the parlor rang twice before the Sheriff answered it with a simple, "Daniels."
It was Buzz Cochran on the other end of the line. Sheriff Daniels questioned why Matt's father would be calling him. Surely Cody had told Matt he could not come to the party the boys were having that night.
"Brock, you and Beth better come over straight away," Buzz Cochran informed the Sheriff telling him, "Cody's been hurt."
The announcement caught Sheriff Daniels off guard.
He asked his friend, "What are you talking about, Buzz? Cody's upstairs in his bedroom. We're waiting on him to come get his ice cream."
"No he's not, Brock," Cochran replied, "he's sitting on the couch in my living room. His jeans are torn and his right leg is bleeding. He was hit by a car coming to Matt's party. Cody won't tell me directly but I think he knows who hit him."
Sheriff Daniels recradled the receiver of his phone. Relaying the aforementioned development to Beth, he said, "It's Cody. He's hurt."
The news grabbed Beth's undivided attention. She dropped her spoon in the middle of her ice cream dish. Falling against the side of the ceramic bowl it made a loud ping!
"Cody's been hit by a car," Sheriff Daniels continued his story. Then he told Beth, "He's with Buzz. Cody knows who it was that hit him."
"If you're waiting for me, Cowboy, you're backing up!" Beth stated grabbing her clutch off the countertop where she had placed the bag earlier that day.
"Say no more, Sweetheart. I'm right behind you!" Sheriff Daniels informed her.
They left the house in a hurry. Their minds on Cody's welfare. Down the sidewalk leading to the Cochran residence they flew. Buzz Cochran stood in the doorway of his house to meet them.
Sheriff Daniels paraded through thirteen excited, talkative, boys clustered in the living room of the Cochran house to reach Cody.
Immediately he demanded, "Do you know how much trouble you are in, little man?"
Embarrassed by being asked that question in front of mixed company, Cody meekly responded, "Yes, sir."
In the back of the room one of the other boys mumbled under his breath to those standing around him, "Oh-h-h! Cody's in big time trouble!"
While Sheriff Daniels asked Cody how he was, and examined his injured right knee, Beth took control of the situation.
She told the other boys to "Go in the den and put a movie on or go home. You don't need to be out here right now while Sheriff Daniels is tending to Cody."
"Yes, ma'am. We're going," thirteen boys responded in unison.
They filed off into the spacious den still chattering among themselves about what happened leaving Matt and Buzz Cochran, Sheriff Daniels, and Beth remaining in the living room with Cody.
Matt, seated next to Cody on the couch, had stayed quiet through the whole ordeal to that point.
"Cody, if you know who hit you I want you to tell me right now!" Sheriff Daniels asserted.
Cody's knee was discolored, and swollen, but nothing appeared broken. That was the good news. The bad news was Cody did not respond to the Sheriff's comment right away.
Noticing Matt was still in the room, Beth strongly addressed him, "Matthew David, when I told you boys to go watch a movie that included you. Motor!"
Quietly, Matt slid off the couch and left the room as Cody finally replied to the Sheriff's last inquiry with, "It was Taylor!"
Still steamed by the whole incident Sheriff Daniels asked him pointedly, "Fred Taylor?"
Cody responded, "Yes!"
He could still feel the sharp intake of his breath when he had been hit.
Sheriff Daniels went ballistic! Completely off the chart.
He stood up from where he had been examining Cody's knee and vehemently stated, "I'll kill him!"
Beth grabbed his arm tightly and calmly said, "No you won't Brock. You're going to calm down and let cooler heads prevail. Now step aside, Cowboy, so I can talk to Cody."
| Author Notes |
After sneaking out of the house, unbeknown to Sheriff Daniels and Beth, Cody is hit by a car on the way to Matt's party.
Learning who it was that hit him and sped off was surprising to them. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
"Guess I blew it up KABOOM! huh?" Cody asked.
"Yep. Afraid so, Kiddo," Beth replied telling him, "Sneaking out of the house after being told not to leave was definitely a no-no! But, you and I will talk about that later. Right now all I am concerned about is making sure you are okay, Champ."
"I'm okay, Beth," Cody reassured her, "he just knocked me down on purpose. Then sped away."
Sheriff Daniels started to inject something into the conversation Beth was having with Cody.
"Not a word out of you, Cowboy," Beth cut him off sharply.
Sheriff Daniels was wise enough to know when to keep his mouth shut where Beth was concerned. This was one of those rare occasions. He stood back and allowed her to control the scene. After all, she was handling the situation well.
"Tell me what happened, Cody. All of it and don't hold anything back," Beth spoke in a calm tone, "I want to know everything that happened from the time you left the house."
Cody collected his thoughts and began his story, "I walked down the sidewalk on our side of the street. I spotted something shiny in the road so I stepped off the sidewalk to see what it was. And, that's when BLAMMO! Taylor ran me over!"
The boy looked at Beth and continued, "It was deliberate, Beth. He saw me. He tried to kill me, Beth! Then after he ran me over he drove off like the raving lunatic he is...and it hurt too!"
Water started coming to Cody's eyes. If he was playing the sympathy card he was not getting very far with Beth.
Immediately she reprimanded him sternly saying, "Turn the faucet off, Cody. You're not completely innocent in this matter."
Beth paused a breath and warned him, "You may well want them later!"
Cody complied with Beth's request.
Asking Buzz Cochran for his phone Beth dialed the Emergency Dispatcher's number where she knew Veronica Hightower was working the evening shift. The dispatcher answered the call.
"Veronica, this is Beth Sorenson," she began, "I'm at 1317 Maid Marion Lane. I need you to send Cletus and his boys here. Cody's been hurt and I want him seen by medical personnel at Astatula General Hospital before he's up and running around on his knee again."
"Oh, dear me!" Veronica Hightower responded in deep concern questioning, "What happened?"
"Cody got hit by a car," Beth started to tell her.
"Oh my! Not good!" Veronica Hightower gasped. Grasping for details she asked, "Is he all right?"
"I believe he will live at least for the time being," Beth responded not about to provide too many pertinent details to one of the town's biggest gossips, "we'll be waiting for EMS transport."
Beth disconnected the call and turned to face Cody.
"First, we're going to get you checked out to make sure you're still in one piece," she told him, "after that you and I are going to figure the rest of this out together!" she warned him.
"Yes, ma'am," was all Cody softly said, "I'm sorry, Beth. I just wanted to go to Matt's party. That's all."
"I'm glad to hear you say you're sorry, Cody," Beth replied, "however, that does not change the seriousness of what you did. When Sheriff Daniels or I ask you to do something that is what we expect you to do. Am I coming in clear on your channel now?"
"Roger. Over and out," Cody simply replied.
Cody needed a hug. He got two.
Meanwhile, Fred Taylor exited Astatula on the lam. Although his plans to kidnap, torture and kill Cody went awry he needed time to formulate another plan for his next assault. There was no way they would not be carried out. Taylor did not slow down until he crossed the Oklahoma state line.
Sheriff Daniels vowed to himself he would not let bygones be bygones. Not in this case. And, that he would stop at nothing to get his hands on Fred Taylor, or around his scrawny pencil neck! Whichever came first. Taylor made the issues between them personal when he targeted Cody.
Sheriff Daniels placed an All-Points Bulletin on Taylor before the ambulance arrived at the Cochran residence. It was only a matter of time before this incident came to a head.
| Author Notes |
Beth continues talking to Cody about what happened on the way to Matt's party.
Sheriff Daniels vows revenge for Taylor injuring Cody. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
"Armed and dangerous. Such an amazing combination when you have evil on your mind," Fred Taylor thought to himself.
His intentions certainly were not honorable. Once again an urge reared its ugly head. A craving Taylor felt that only fresh-drawn blood satisfied. His need for greed drew Taylor into another small, easy to access business.
All too well Taylor knew, "When his .357 Magnum barked people snapped to!"
The power coursed his veins fulfilling his lust for blood and an air of invincibility settled over him. Invincible. The word provided Taylor with power like nothing else he encountered. Being Deputy Dog of Astatula had presented hunting opportunities not previously accessible to him.
"But Sheriff Brock Daniels stole that golden plum from me and for that someone close to the lawman must horrendously suffer!" in his madness Taylor reasoned.
Reflecting on the concocted scheme to force Cody's return to his 7th Cousin in Palo Pinto, Taylor realized the plan failed miserably. Just the mere sound of that monster's name alone pushed Taylor over the edge of sanity.
He located the sexual predator Rickie Wolford while surfing online. But after hearing Judge Stancil permitted Cody to remain in Astatula, "Where he never belonged!" Taylor protested to no one in particular, he decided Rickie Wolford was expendable.
He could not leave loose ends implicating him in any of his foul deeds. That was intolerable. Plugging Wolford between his beady eyes became a necessity. The terrified expression on his stool pigeon's face when Taylor appeared at his door quenched the burning anger Taylor felt at his failed plot.
That left the "process server" Daryle Morgan to attend to.
"He bought the farm. Hook, line and sinker as the clock struck midnight!" Taylor smiled warmly at the recollection.
The timing of Morgan's demise was impeccable and Taylor loved the poetic beauty of the kill.
Another failed conspiracy of Taylor's occurred in Palo Pinto. He remembered the lucrative scheme he had with Earl Anthony Schroder. The plan dictated Schroder's son be locked away in the notorious Sierra Maya Institution for Wayward Boys in El Paso. The most violent and dangerous juvenile facility in Texas. That was where Earl Anthony Schroder said the worthless scumbag belonged on whatever trumped up charge would land him there fastest.
Taylor did not care what Earl Anthony Schroder thought. As long as the money rolled in. It was a simple task. Being a Deputy, Taylor had no problems arranging Cody's permanent residence of that fabled facility. He would have been well on his way, too.
"If Beth Sorenson had not stuck her nose into the situation upon the untimely death of Earl Anthony Schroder!" Taylor fumed to himself.
The thought made him livid.
"The road kill on the stream of life dodged a major bullet," Taylor reminded himself believing, "he was fortunate to sustain a glancing blow from the vehicle you were driving, That's all. It really wasn't another screw up."
Fred Taylor could not accommodate screw ups. If they happened someone paid in blood.
"The next time the little weasel would not survive!" Taylor vowed standing in a metal washtub scrubbing his bare skin raw with a metal brush. His rage evident.
Taylor ditched his car under an overpass in Oklahoma. He swiped a pickup truck from under the nose of a Used Car Salesman.
"What a fantastic test drive that was!" Taylor chuckled with a certain degree of swagger, "It definitely would be the last pitch that salesman ever made."
Taylor could have snatched any vehicle he desired. It was the interaction with the soon-to-be cold slab of meat he preferred. A battle of wills occasionally intrigued Taylor. He never lost these confrontations.
Back in Texas the Boogey Man would soon be enroute to haunt the worst nightmare Cody Schroder ever experienced. Taylor wanted a feast and blood carrion appealed to his palate. Remembering the mole spent most of his play time at Sullivan Lake, Taylor decided that would be an appropriate starting point for the hunt to commence. His .357 Magnum was ready.
At the moment there was a Chevron gas station luring him in.
Making his pit stop quick Taylor told himself, "Better make that banshee in Astatula Victim Number Ten."
He would. The ninth one lay on the floor of the service station spilling blood from a bullet in the back of his head. He used to be somebody's something or other. Who knew what? Taylor did not care. It was no loss to him.
Feeling refreshed Taylor boasted, "There is nothing, nothing at all, Sheriff Brock Daniels can do to prevent the inevitable!"
And if the lawman got in his way Taylor had a special little present with Daniels name engraved on it waiting for him.
"Let Beth Sorenson proclaim that event in her ongoing campaign for Mayor. It would surely be the ideal platform," Taylor decided.
He could see the headlines now: "She could not even keep murder out of her own backyard."
Taylor laughed out loud at the irony of the slogan. He was such a highly intelligent man he scared himself. With his truck refueled, and new money from the cash register at the Chevron burning a hole inside his pocket, Fred Taylor pointed his wheels west.
"Ready or not Astatula. Let the games begin!" he screamed into the night.
| Author Notes |
A detailed examination into the mind of the Astatula Assassin.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Cody was right. He did not know what he was right about. But he knew he was right. He could smell the aroma. He needed to find the proof. Somehow the little prowler must find a way into Fred Taylor's clapboard house in the Historic District of Astatula. He had to know why Taylor ran him over with his car.
This was the first time Cody was allowed to leave the Sheriff's home in a week. The term of Beth's grounding him for sneaking out to Matt's slumber party. Cody felt fortunate it was only seven days.
At first, Beth told him "You are confined for a whole month!"
But after she thought about the situation some more she relented.
Cody wasn't idle during his grounding. He had many more chores than usual to occupy his time that week. Beth also made him write a ten thousand word explanation of why sneaking out of the house behind Sheriff Daniels back was wrong. That was more writing than Cody ever remembered doing before.
"Ten thousand words!" Cody protested after hearing Beth's proclamation.
"Yes, ten thousand words," Beth reiterated herself not wanting to hear any excuses from the boy.
Then she warned him, "You have all week to write the essay so you better get started on the project right away. Because I will keep extending your grounding until it is completed!"
"And, no. You can not type them on the computer. You must write them all down by hand on paper," she further required of Cody.
"I don't even know that many words," Cody remarked trying to talk Beth into lessening the assignment.
"Then having you write this essay will also help increase your vocabulary won't it?" Beth asked him.
"Yes," Cody responded knowing he was fighting a losing battle.
So Cody wrote. And he wrote. And he wrote some more! Until he was sure his hand would fall off. Many times he shook his hand to get the circulation back in it. Finally he accomplished all ten thousand words. He was proud to complete the task.
Now, here he stood outside Fred Taylor's back door checking to see if it was unlocked. Cody pulled on the doorknob. No such luck. However, Cody was not easily defeated. One way or another he would find a way inside the house. There were four windows on the backside of the house. Cody remembered in Astatula it was not uncommon to leave a window unlocked.
Cody tried to gain entry through the first window. It was tightly locked. He would have to keep checking the other ones. The second window had a crack in the glass pane it contained.
"The right sized rock would resolve this challenge," Cody thought to himself.
Cody reasoned he better not break that window.
"The shattering glass will make a sound the neighbors were sure to hear," his inner little voice told him.
So far none of them noticed he was up to no good. Cody wanted it to stay that way so he attempted to push up the bottom of the third window.
To the boy's surprise the window slid right up.
"Success!" he smiled broadly.
Now to get inside the darkened house. Like the little monkey he was, Cody shimmied up the rock wall of the backside of the house until he could stick his upper half through the opening the raised window made in its frame. Swinging his legs up he was inside.
"Should I close the window or leave it open?" Cody asked himself. He had never been a burglar before.
Cody decided if he needed to make a hasty retreat an open window would be much easier and faster to exit out of so he decided he would risk a passerby walking around outside spotting the open window. Cody did not plan to remain in Taylor's house for any length of time.
"You're only going to be here long enough to find what you came here for," Cody reminded himself.
Then he would hightail it out of Dodge!
"But what are you looking for and where will you find the answer you are after?" Cody pondered. He had no way of knowing.
He was glad no one was home. Taylor had run him over with his car. No telling what the lunatic would do if he caught Cody breaking into his house. Probably shoot him dead...or worse!
Slowly Cody made his way into the living room of the residence. He could feel his heart beating faster with every step he took. To find what he hunted he knew he must remain calm so he took a couple deep breaths to settle himself down.
"Okay Cody," he said to no one around, "let's just see how clever you really are."
Then he asked himself, "If you were Taylor where would you hide the evidence?"
Cody was up to his ears in the haystack. Locating the missing needle would be another story.
"Let the lookie-look begin," he told himself opening the first drawer he could reach.
| Author Notes |
Looking for evidence Cody breaks the law and becomes a burglar.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
The public service warning should have been sounded, "Hurricane Cody just hit the Lone Star State!"
Because, inside Taylor's house Cody was being a very naughty little boy. But he did not care. To him it was payback for all the mistreatment he continuously received from Taylor. As fast as he could work Cody pulled as many contents out of all the cabinets, cupboards, and drawers as he could.
Starting in the kitchen the room looked like a Category 5 hurricane blew through. Silverware, pots, pans, and dishes littered every inch of floor space Cody could find. Soon cans of food and assorted boxes joined them. He even unplugged the refrigerator so all the food in it would spoil. He would come back and plug the kitchen sink leaving the water running full force.
Cody departed the kitchen kicking whatever lay in his path out of the way with his foot and entered the living room. Couch cushions and chair covers went flying. Cody noticed the 42-inch television in the far corner of the room. He also spotted a broom nearby. This was one loud crash Cody wanted to make.
"Too bad he didn't have a baseball bat handy!" he thought to himself.
Standing as far to one side of the television as he could get, while remaining in arm's length, Cody picked up the broom and swung its handle as hard as he could into the screen of the television.
"Whoa!" Cody excitedly exclaimed as impact was made and the screen shattered debris everywhere.
He really liked the popping noise the television made on contact. Cody tossed the broom across the room. It knocked a picture off the far wall. Cody smiled. He was having so much fun and enjoying himself tremendously. He was not about to stop.
Cody made his way into the bathroom of the house. There he found a can of shaving cream and was almost out of control. He picked the can up. Reading the label he noticed it was Barbasol, lemon-lime fragrance.
Shaking the can well he started spraying shaving cream over everything he saw in the bathroom. His enjoyment in there completed, he dropped a role of toilet paper into the commode and flushed the toilet. Water overflowed the bowl. Allowing the tank to fill back up Cody repeated the process three more times for giggles.
Cody found the bedroom. This room offered a walk-in closet. Noticing a pair of red-handled shears laying on a dresser top Cody picked them up. He knocked all the other contents on the top of the dresser onto the floor. Fred Taylor's wardrobe was about to be pruned.
Going up one side of the closet, and coming down the other, Cody grabbed several articles of clothing. He cut them with the shears and yanked them off the hangers they were on letting each piece fall on the floor.
After a life time of abuse, Cody had had enough. He never knew how good being bad could feel. He was quickly finding out at Fred Taylor's expense. But Cody did not care.
He had not found what he was searching for. But he was not done having his fun yet either. Taylor's bedroom remained more or less in one piece. For a few more minutes that was. Cody started pulling clothes out of the chest-of-drawers.
Like in the kitchen everything he picked up, or pulled out of drawers, flew away. Except this time it was socks, underwear, and tee shirts taking off on the runway.
"Pilot to Bombardier, bombs away!" Cody laughed tossing Taylor's clothes out of the drawers they were in as fast as he could.
That was when Cody found the evidence he was looking for. No doubt about it at all. He pulled a plastic bag out of the right rear pocket of the jeans he wore and opened the bag. Carefully he placed the evidence in the bag and resealed the container. He was done in the house. Or so he thought.
Pulling the blanket, sheets, and pillows off Taylor's bed, Cody let them lay where they fell. Knowing he would never allow anyone to abuse or mistreat him ever again Cody relieved himself on the middle of the mattress.
It was then Cody heard a loud knocking on the front door of the house he had not heard before.
"State Police, Taylor!" he heard someone shout, "Open up and come out with your hands high!"
Cody did not wait around. He ran back to the kitchen sink, placed the stopper in it, and turned both faucets on full blast. Water went sailing everywhere!
He heard someone yelling, "Break the door down with the battering ram!"
Cody raced for the bedroom window he left open upon breaking into Taylor's house. There was no way he could be caught inside. He had to get out like his head was on fire and his behind was rapidly catching.
As the front door of the house busted open from the force of the battering ram being slammed against it, Cody scampered out the window. Doing so he dropped the evidence bag he collected. Cody lightly landing on his feet and stealthfully looked around him.
There at the corner of the house stood a brown-uniformed State Patrolman. Cody did not recognize him. Fortunately for Cody the law enforcement officer was distracted talking to someone near the front of the house and not paying attention to its rear. He did not notice Cody making his hasty retreat.
As quickly as he could Cody picked up the evidence bag he had dropped on the ground and speedily hurried two houses down from Taylor's. He hoped the Romaines Doberman that lived there did not bark. Roby did not make a sound.
"Good dog!" Cody thought to himself.
Cody swung around to the front side of the Romaines property. No one was home. At least he did not observe any cars in their driveway and all he saw were the State Patrolmen entering Taylor's house.
Taking one, two, three quick steps in the opposite direction from Taylor's place Cody broke out into a full sprint. He was a fast runner. He did not think he was observed by any of the officers at Taylor's house.
"Smooth sailing," Cody told himself.
However, Cody did not slow down for three blocks and he knew he was in the clear from the excitement he left behind. He checked his jeans pocket. The evidence was still there, safe and sound. Now to get it to Sheriff Daniels.
"But how can you do that without a whole bunch of explaining where it came from?" Cody asked himself knowing that was something he did not want to do.
Turning over a new leaf Cody had learned something from all the years of abuse he suffered at the hands of Earl Anthony Schroder.
| Author Notes |
In an outpouring of anger after a life time of abuse Cody trashes Fred Taylor's house.
Then he finds the missing evidence he seeks. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
A group of boys were skinny dipping in the cool water of Sullivan Lake. It was a steaming, hot and humid West Texas afternoon. In the small town of Astatula that was acceptable. To them. Others, their parents included, might have thought differently.
Their clothing scattered around the shore of the recreational lake the boys were playing Tag, Chase, It, Chicken Fights, and any other fun activity their overactive, creative, imaginations could invent. Cody and Matt were two of those boys and instigated most of the shenanigans occurring.
Even while rambunctiously playing Cody seemed a little uneasy. Occasionally, he would turn around to stare off in the distance as if he sensed his every little movement was being observed.
Finally, winning another Chicken Fight by pulling Robby Browning off the shoulders of Timmy Johnston, where he was perched, Matt looked at Cody.
Casually he asked him, "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing," Cody told him not totally believing the words he spoke himself. Then, he changed his answer to, "at least, I hope nothing. Race you to other side of the lake."
Matt was up for that. He always enjoyed his little competitions with Cody to see which one of them could do something better. This friendly little rivalry had always taken place between the two boys. And it was done good-naturedly without any hard feelings on the part of the loser. Both of them were good swimmers so Matt thought this race would be a blast.
He did not expect the kind that happened at the lake. Because, suddenly from out of nowhere, there on the shoreline stood Fred Taylor observing what the boys were doing. And it did not take them but a quick moment to notice his presence. Especially Cody.
The boys froze in place like they had been unceremoniously busted. Caught red-handed with their grubby little paws in the cookie jar after being told they could not have a treat.
Desperately trying to separate himself from Matt, and the other boys for safety sake, Cody began backpedaling. He knew the real reason Taylor had come to the lake. Cody was Number One on his Hit list. The other boys, treading water, remained in place.
Cody was almost to the opposite shoreline. In order to protect his friends from Taylor he had to make his move. It was the only chance they had to see their families again. And Taylor's target was Cody...not them.
Fast approaching Cody with his gun in his hand Taylor angrily snapped, "You broke into my house!"
"What's it to you?" an obviously defiant Cody demanded.
He knew he had to go all in to have any chance to survive Taylor's wrath.
"You trashed my property!" Taylor continued heatedly.
"So?" Cody smugly asked him. He did not care what he had done to Taylor's belongings.
"And you peed on my bed!" Taylor fumed and he was livid.
"Couldn't have happened to a worse person!" Cody replied knowing what he did made him feel a whole lot better in more ways than one.
"Now, I'm gonna kill you, you irrelevant slime ball!" Taylor exploded.
"First you have to catch me you perverted wiener!" Cody fired back just as heatedly.
Cody reached the shore of the lake then said, "I already gave your selfies of your victims to Sheriff Daniels. Now everybody knows you're the Astatula Assassin!"
"Then I'll kill him, too!" Taylor strongly promised.
The murderer surveyed the lake. Seeing the various levels of terror on the faces of each of the boys for good measure he empathetically pointed his finger at them one by one to emphasize his threat.
Snarling at them he threatened, "And after I kill Cody, I am going to come back and kill everyone of you too!"
Taylor started walking at a rapid pace around the short side of Sullivan Lake to where Cody would come out of the water if he exited the lake. He liked the smooth feel of his .357 Magnum in his hand and was more than comfortable using it. Victim Number Ten would soon join his exclusive members-only club.
Cody suddenly darted out of the water. His tiny, little bare hiney in all its shining glory was fully exposed and on display for the whole wide world to see. But at that moment Cody did not care. All that mattered was escaping Taylor's clutches.
As fast as he could run Cody raced over to where his swim trunks and sneakers lay on the ground. In no time flat he pulled his trunks on and up. Then he slid each sneaker on its proper foot. He did not bother to grab his pullover shirt off the ground.
"Drop your gun, Taylor!" came the shouted command from Sheriff Daniels. He too had observed the situation at the lake.
The Sheriff quickly turned to the swimmers and instructed them, "You boys stay where you're at!"
Sheriff Daniels was positioned behind Taylor. He would only risk firing his weapon if the Assassin faced him. The Sheriff wanted to keep all gun play as far away from the frightened boys as possible to prevent any of them from getting shot.
Behind Sheriff Daniels stood a cluster of various law enforcement officers. They were armed and ready. In close proximity to them were a collection of television and radio vans extending their satellite antennas. Several reporters faced cameras to report live the capture of the Astatula Assassin.
To put it mildly the scene was chaotic.
Taylor fired his weapon. His aim was true and the bullet from his gun found its mark. Cody grabbed his left shoulder and fell to the ground bleeding profusely. Sheriff Daniels fired two rounds of his own and Taylor fell dead next to where Cody lay.
Racing to the fallen boy, Sheriff Daniels checked for a pulse. It was weak but there was a faint heartbeat.
Scooping Cody up gently in his arms he told the boy as he ran for his squad car, "Don't you dare die on me, Little Man!"
His voice was desperate!
| Author Notes |
Cody is shot by the Astatula Assassin while skinny dipping with friends at Sullivan Lake.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilybug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
"It had been a long month. A very long month for all of us here in Astatula," Sheriff Daniels recalled. He made his way through the sliding glass doors that led into Astatula General Hospital.
There he found the elevator and rode it up to the second floor. Sheriff Daniels made his way down the long, winding, corridor and entered Cody's private room on 2 East. Cody laid in a coma in the same bed where he had been since being shot by the Astatula Assassin. Sheriff Daniels could not prevent the "Gunshot Heard Around Potter County," as it became known, from being fired, but, a part of him died that day at Sullivan Lake.
Beth and the Sheriff took turns standing vigil by Cody's bedside. Around the clock one, or both, of them steadfastly refused to leave the boy unattended. This morning was no exception to that rule. It was the Sheriff's watch. Fortunately, the City of Astatula was covering all of Cody's medical bills and the expenses associated with him being shot.
"Thank you very much, Judge Stancil. You really came through in a pinch for the three of us," Sheriff Daniels replied upon hearing the good news he was told in that regard.
The Judge had grown very fond of Cody during the hearing to determine if the boy would be allowed to remain with Sheriff Daniels in Astatula before these tragic events unfolded.
All the same bells and whistles of the machines Cody was hooked up to were talking back to the Sheriff as he entered the room like they knew what they were saying. He prayed for Cody's sake the information these monitors spit out remained spot on. The last thing that was needed was for one of them to malfunction.
The medical team was spearheaded by Rosie Davis, Cody's Lead Nurse. She was portly and dark as midnight. Full of compassion, professionalism, and dedication everyone knew she tolerated no shenanigans when it came to one of her patients. Maybe that was why she was affectionately known as "Mama Rosie".
Every half an hour the attentive medical staff diligently turned Cody to prevent bed sores from developing. These were some of the finest employees Astatula General Hospital offered. Sheriff Daniels knew Cody received the best care possible. He just wanted him home. Where he belonged. And, the Sheriff had no way of knowing if Cody ever would be again.
Doctor Donald Patterson, Cody's attending Primary Care Physician, reassured the Sheriff, "Cody is young and he is healthy. Those are two really good points in his favor."
He also cautioned him, "But his waking up, or let me more correctly state that, if he wakes up again, that is on him. Right now, Sheriff, we're doing all we can do."
Sheriff Daniels knew they were. He had seen their remarkable efforts ever since the day Cody was operated on and admitted to this fine facility. He also understood the team that scored the most points won the football game. But realizing all that did not make Cody wake up any sooner.
Upon walking into the room Sheriff Daniels noticed Cody laid on his back. His left shoulder was still wrapped in all the heavy bandages Fort Knox could hold. That was where he had taken the bullet. Sheriff Daniels also saw one little bare foot stuck out from under the sheet that covered the boy. Yep. All five little piggies were present.
The Sheriff counted and lightly touched each one of them to make sure they were all there. He knew how sensitive to the touch Cody's feet are. The Sheriff teased the bottom of the boy's foot with his fingers. He saw no reflex reaction. Disappointed, Sheriff Daniels slowly shook his head from side to side.
He reached down and smoothed the sheet out and covered Cody's foot. Legally, Cody was not his...yet. However, Sheriff Daniels could not wait for that situation to change. He wondered what took the paperwork so long to come before Judge Stancil's court? He had not been notified of any delays in its processing.
Sheriff Daniels reached down again and brushed the blond bangs off Cody's forehead. He thought to himself, "The little hippie needs another haircut." It had been too long since his last one."
Softly Sheriff Daniels told the boy, "It's okay, Cody. You wake up when you're ready. Beth and I will be here with bells on when you come back to us."
And they would be too.
"Dancing with the stars all the way," the Sheriff promised him.
Then he asked Cody, "But make it a whole lot sooner than later, will you? For me. One little favor. That's all I'm asking of you."
Sheriff Daniels sat down in the comfortable lounger next to Cody's bed. This chaise was now his home and would remain so until Cody woke up. He saw the raised rails on the sides of Cody's bed.
"If I could take your place Little Man, I would. In a heartbeat. No questions asked," the Sheriff said to himself.
Even Matt had a difficult time coping with Cody's condition. As hard as it was for him to do, Matt came to see his best friend. Once. And, that was okay. Somehow Sheriff Daniels sensed Cody knew his running buddy was there for him.
What the Sheriff did not know was what he was going to do. Astatula is their home, and as the Sheriff, Brock Daniels had done his best to protect the town to the full capacity of his abilities. For twelve years he had tried. Today the Sheriff felt he failed. The proof was laying in the bed beside him.
Even Beth, who cared for that special ten-year-old boy laying there like she does, could not do much to sweeten Brock Daniels sour disposition when it came to hanging up his badge and walking away as the Sheriff of Astatula.
"Cody needs me more as his Dad than Astatula needs a Sheriff with half a heart for the position," the Sheriff reasoned.
The thought made sense to him. Later that morning Sheriff Brock Daniels would meet with Mayor Christopher Duncan and resign. Then Sheriff Daniels heard the news reported on the television in the room. Two of the town's youngest citizens were missing. It was assumed they ran away from home. At the moment that did not matter much to him.
"Let them be somebody else's headache," Sheriff Daniels told himself.
Continuing, his thought was, "Right now you're needed exactly where you are much more than you need to be out there chasing another lunatic."
Then, eerily, it donned on the Sheriff and he asked himself, "What if he is a ghost from your past and you are the only one who has ever been able to stop his savagery?"
Missing children always made the Sheriff think of Bee-Bo. He could not help himself. Previously, Sheriff Daniels had seen The Clown's handiwork and it was not a pretty sight! However, his mind was made up. He decided Cody was where he belonged.
| Author Notes |
After Cody is shot by the Astatula Assassin, Sheriff Daniels struggles with remaining the lawman of his home town or hanging up his badge.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Alone in the solitude of Cody's hospital room Sheriff Daniels had plenty of time to reflect. The events of June 14th flashed through his mind like instant replay tape. All too well he remembered Cody and his friends skinny dipping in Sullivan Lake.
"I could have skinned that young whippersnapper alive on the shore of that lake!" Sheriff Daniels thought to himself. "Right in front of his playmates and the rolling news feeds covering the scene when Fred Taylor approached Cody with his loaded .357 Magnum in his hand."
All he could say was, "There most definitely was more than one full moon rising that day."
Sheriff Daniels wondered, "Since I was positioned behind the Astatula Assassin at the time was there anything I could have done differently to prevent Cody from being shot?"
And he realized "No there wasn't except shoot Fred Taylor in the back."
"Perhaps I should have squeezed the trigger on my weapon and let the pieces fall where they may?" he stated to himself.
Hind sight being 20-20 if the situation could be redone he probably would. According to several eye witnesses Cody bolted out of the lake to draw Taylor away from harming the other boys. That was an established fact and Cody's undoing. It was Taylor's Selfies with his victims Cody discovered burglarizing the Astatula Assassin's house. This evidence proved what the Sheriff's suspicions had become.
At the recent VFW Fish Fry celebration Cody overheard a comment about Fred Taylor's unique photographic talents. Cody never mentioned anything to the Sheriff about that trivial insight. However, this comment aroused curiosity in Cody. It was later Sheriff Daniels learned Cody rummaged through Taylor's desk in the Sheriff's Station but came up empty. It was not until he broke into Taylor's residence he found the pictures. There would be no criminal charges levied for Cody's crime.
With the exception of Cody, Sheriff Daniels had known every single one of the boys at Sullivan Lake that day since they were born. The whole lot of them. They came from good stock and knew better than to pull the stunt that they pulled. Harmless fun though it seemed to them to be at the time.
Yes, there was significant fall-out from their now infamous display of exhibitionism. Sheriff Daniels could not blame any of their parents for the way they handled the uh-hem, exposure shall we say, Astatula received on several news networks as well as the yahoo homepage. Certainly too many news affiliates to name them all.
Sheriff Daniels believed from what he was told that tail feathers of the pale and pink varieties still floated around Sullivan Lake. They probably always would. However, the town was resilient. Astatula would bounce back. This too shall pass.
The Sheriff's next thought was "Cody can some times be quite a handful of shining moments in the spotlight of life. However, considering the background in Palo Pinto he came from before becoming my ward, I suppose some wrong decisions are to be expected. We burn those bridges when they come along."
"Cody has certainly traveled a long distance since those days," Sheriff Daniels decided, "but there is still room for more improvement. Cody will learn. The hard way, no doubt."
Sitting there looking at the boy the Sheriff longed for a million more experiences with him. Would he get them? That remained the question. Sheriff Daniels certainly hoped he would.
For now Cody just lay in that hospital bed. His innocent cherubic face staring up at the same spot on the ceiling he had been fixated on for the last month. Sheriff Daniels desperately wanted his Little Man back. Little Man. That was the Sheriff's favorite pet name for Cody.
Beth returned from her three day sojourn to Dallas. Her campaign for Mayor of Astatula was blossoming in full swing. Most assuredly she would easily become the next political leader of the little town and a very good one. Her heart was always in the right place and Sheriff Daniels supported Beth one hundred percent no matter what she did. Come what may they had each other's backs.
To say the least Beth was flabbergasted by Brock Daniels decision to step aside as the Sheriff. However, she understood his desire to be with Cody. In addition to everything else Beth was currently wrapped up in she was pulling almost as many night time hours with Cody as he carried day time ones. Never a word of complaint. Beth's hectic schedule dictated that was all she could do at the moment. She would have done more. Much more. If time permitted.
Noting the deep black circles growing larger under the Sheriff's eyes with each passing day, Beth commented to him, "It's not going to do Cody any good if you end up in a hospital bed from exhaustion, Brock."
"Exhaustion will wait for another time and place," Sheriff Daniels replied.
He held no patience for such an animal on his main line. Nor did he want such a beast hanging on to his coat tails.
Kissing Beth's tender rosy red lips, one of the Sheriff's most favorite past times, he stated, "Sweetheart, as long as you can spell me a couple hours a night I'll be okay."
Then he remarked, "I'll be fine when Cody wakes up. Until he does we'll keep on keeping on. Just you, me, Cody, and the watermelon patch. Like it has always been."
Sheriff Daniels latest "keeping on" stint consumed about 96 straight hours without leaving Cody's bedside. Perhaps it was his wild imagination rampantly running away with his tired mind but lately he thought he saw little signs Cody heard every word the Sheriff spoke to him. And there were many.
Now if the boy would just wake up.
| Author Notes |
With Cody still in a coma Sheriff Daniels has plenty of time to reflect on recent events.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
The myna bird known as Sheriff Daniels constantly squawked up a storm about whatever came to his thoughts. He told Cody more about himself than the boy probably wanted to hear or listen to. The Sheriff held a captive audience of one who possessed no place else to go.
He even told Cody, "I was appreciative my close associate in Gunter County volunteered one of his Senior Deputies, Verne Brewer, to act as the Interim Sheriff of Astatula until a full-time replacement could be brought on board."
Turning his pager into the Sheriff's Office Brock Daniels instructed Deputy Brewer, "Do not contact me about anything even closely resembling official business. I am no longer in the game."
To that Deputy Brewer bid the ex-Sheriff, "Ride safe Brock!"
It was a law enforcement expression he was very familiar with.
Brock Daniels meant precisely what he told Deputy Brewer. Even when he sat down the next morning in the upholstered lounger beside Cody and opened up the daily edition of the Astatula Gazette newspaper. Lo and behold there was his bright sunshiny face and a headline that screamed in big bold letters:
'BROCK DANIELS ABANDONS ASTATULA!"
"News travels fast," he thought to himself.
The article was a slamming editorial written by the Sharon L. Morse Award-Winning Editor Peter Lewis. Previously, Lewis wrote several pieces about Brock Daniels stellar law enforcement efforts in Astatula. None of these features were negative in any light. His hostility with this information was puzzling but Brock Daniels allowed the feelings to pass.
Peter Lewis's story lambasted him for resigning as the Sheriff of Astatula.
"He's entitled to his misguided opinion,' Brock Daniels thought, 'As far off base as the article was.' It's lack of credible reporting was appalling. He brushed the water off his shoulders and allowed the currents to run down his back.
The biggest surprise to Brock Daniels was not Peter Lewis's article. He could care less what the reporter wrote about him as long as he spelled his name correctly.
An attached addendum to the article was a petition circulating around town inquiring, "How many of the good people of Astatula would welcome Brock Daniels back as their Sheriff?"
The article further stated, "872 registered voter names appeared on the petition stating they could not wait for him to resume his proper position as the Sheriff."
That number equaled nearly three-quarters of the town's population.
"Not too shabby," Brock Daniels thought upon reading the statement, "especially considering this petition has only been available one day."
But wait they would. While he was sincerely pleased by the vote of confidence the good people of Astatula conferred on him, Cody was now his highest priority. Everything else was a far distant second nature. That was just the way the cookie crumbled in Kookamonga Country.
Cody's room was beginning to look like a furball menagerie of stuffed toys. Everybody in town knew about his condition and wanted to wish him a speedy recovery. Channel Four News frequently provided periodic updates about him. Apparently leaked by well meaning hospital employees.
Cody's gallantry in helping end Fred Taylor's reign of terror made him somewhat of a Hometown Hero. His room was full of stuffed tigers, cats, dogs, teddy bears, bunnies, and a wide assortment of other four-legged critters. There were so many collecting Brock Daniels took to stashing them in a corner. Cody had his own multi-colored zoo waiting for him.
On those rare occasions when Brock Daniels dashed down to the hospital cafeteria for a quick bite to eat, or ran an errand in town he could not postpone any longer, he was accosted by concerned citizens questioning him about how Cody was faring?
His pat response remained, "There was no change. But thanks for asking. That means a lot to me."
Their genuine concern did. It showed him they cared.
What he wished he could tell them was, "Cody's his old self again and is going home with me. Everything is coming up roses."
But that remained the farthest thing from the truth Brock Daniels could tell them.
"Astatula is a small town Brock and everybody knows everybody else's business," Beth reminded him after hearing him comment about their lack of privacy.
"I realize that Sweetheart," Brock Daniels readily assured her, "and I know they mean well." He was fussing.
"Then let them ask about Cody and let them send their well wishes Brock. What's it going to hurt anybody?" Beth asked him in return.
Once again, she was right.
Beth also told him, "You're way too close to the situation Brock. Why don't you go home and get some real sleep today? You need it! And, you'll feel a lot better. I can make my phone calls here. That way Cody won't be alone."
As badly as he did not want to Brock Daniels needed a change of scenery.
Kissing Beth's lips he said, trying to slip the comment by her, "I'll bring lunch back when I return."
"You'll do no such thing Cowboy!" Beth warned him without missing a beat, then said, "Make it dinner."
Without creating an argument he wanted no part of Brock Daniels left Cody's room wondering, "How much longer the boy could sleep until he woke up?"
With most coma victims that is the $64,000 dollar question. It is almost impossible to predict. There are no easy answers.
Crashing on his bed Brock Daniels stretched out full length. With Beth and Cody both at Astatula General Hospital the silence of his humble adobe was overwhelming. He could hear the walls breathing. For the first time in five long days Brock Daniels zoned out. Nobody ever said being a primary caregiver was an easy task. He was well versed in how difficult a chore that could be.
Still, he would not be deterred from his appointed rounds until Cody was safely tucked away in his upstairs bedroom and this ordeal was far behind them.
Until then Brock Daniels was all in.
| Author Notes |
No longer the Sheriff of Astatula, Brock Daniels continues his vigil at the comatose Cody's bedside.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to complement my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
The most vicious killer I ever encountered sat high on the hill overlooking Astatula eating a meatball sub with lots of extra pickles. To each their own. He took another mouthful and slowly chewed the food up.
"So this is where Brock Daniels landed?" he asked himself. Then, pausing a moment he thought, "Nice little town! Not!"
Bee-Bo had a long standing score to settle. Quietly contemplating his next move, Bee-Bo ran his long pointy fingers through his shoulder-length, burnt-orange mane.
His first two special deliveries placed ten G's in his pocket. His third buyer yearned for a blue-eyed blond.
Bee-Bo took a sip of the soda in his paper cup. The additional ice made the drink much colder, like Bee-Bo's blood. He enjoyed that.
Bee-Bo knew exactly where to find his target. All he would do is bide his time and wait. Simple as that.
Bee-Bo and I crossed paths many years ago. In a location far from Texas that was bright and cheery. Just like Bee-Bo when he performed for the circus back in the day.
His jailhouse snitch was right. The escaped convicted child trafficker was pleased about the news. Too bad for the snitch the information wasn't enough to keep Bee-Bo from slicing a mile-wide, ear-to-ear grin across the stool pigeon's throat with a box cutter before he made his escape. Bee-Bo did not like people who could not keep secrets.
Bee-Bo could not remember if the number of special deliveries he made over the years was in the twenties? Maybe even the thirties! There were so many he lost count somewhere along the way. Very quickly Bee-Bo learned how fruitful the market produced. Those he could not sell became ground meat.
"Amazing what a wood chipper can do!" Bee-Bo smiled to himself.
"Then I came along and reared my ugly head," or so Bee-Bo thought.
I shut Bee-Bo's lucrative operation down. That made Bee-Bo very sad. Bee-Bo did not like to be sad. I knew the mere mention of my name gave Bee-Bo the willies. I could see him once more shudder at the thought. Bee-Bo took another bite of his sandwich.
Bee-Bo had not served thirteen years of a sixty year stretch in prison for nothing. He had a purpose for coming to this hole-in-the-wall, as he considered Astatula to be. And, it was not a social visit. Blood called. So did revenge!
Bee-Bo knew there were plenty of blonds in the little town. Only one would allow him the measure of satisfaction he desperately craved. The 25,000 greenbacks the special delivery would put in Bee-Bo's hand went a long way in persuading him he had nowhere else to go.
Finished with his drink Bee-Bo tightly crumpled his cup up in his fist and thought, "Getting into Cody Schroder's hospital room had been a breeze!"
No one even suspected Bee-Bo brazenly made his grand entrance. Another unique talent Bee-Bo possessed was disguises. He could be anybody he wanted to be at any time. Young or old. Male or female. It did not matter. Presto Chango!
Bee-Bo laughed heartily.
"Funny what my collection of props can achieve," Bee-Bo said out loud to the wind and trees around him.
Slowly standing up and placing his right hand against the bark of a mesquite tree, Bee-Bo wondered if I read the note attached to the stuffed grey wolf he left for Cody in Room 2103 that morning. It read:
"Be diligent Daniels! Be very, very diligent! I have already been in Cody's room once and you had no clue I paid you a visit. I will return for my trophy. When you least expect my appearance I will come claim what is rightfully mine!"
At the end of the warning was a P.S. that read: "Help a little old lady. Buy a rose today."
And it was signed with a "B" - "C".
I immediately recognized the signature as Bee-Bo the Clown. I did find Bee-Bo's note and read it twice. Then folded the note in half and tucked the paper into the pocket of my shirt. I tried to remember all the smallest details of the appearance of the "little old lady" who I purchased the rose from.
Like an elephant I do not forget things of this nature. Cutting my eyes to the red rose laying on Cody's bedside table I bought for Beth I knew I had been duped. For Cody's sake I could not afford to make the same mistake again. And I would not.
Bee-Bo loved surprises. Especially comical ones like the expression he knew would be on my face when I realized what he had achieved that morning. To him it would be priceless! Climbing into his car Bee-Bo crept downhill into town slowly looking all around.
Calling Doctor Patterson I wanted the names and personnel files of every hospital employee associated with Cody's care. I knew I would get them. Time to make sure Bee-Bo did not have any accomplices working at Astatula General Hospital.
Then I called Beth. I explained to her my reasoning for wanting my snub-nosed .45, with its hollow-point rounds, brought to the hospital. I would have much preferred my service revolver. But not being the Sheriff any longer I could not gain access to the weapon. That did not mean I could not protect Cody. Far from it.
If Bee-Bo returned I would be more than ready for him.
Cody was not going any place and he most definitely was not going to be sold to the highest bidder!
| Author Notes |
Brock Daniels unwittingly encounters a ghost from his past in Cody's hospital room. He immediately realizes the danger associated with the visit.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Early the next morning I received the personnel files I requisitioned under Doctor Patterson's authority. Gaining his cooperation was assured because of the circumstances surrounding Bee-Bo's unannounced visit to Cody's room and the potential danger the criminal posed.
"Astatula General Hospital wants no part of the risk Bee-Bo presents," Doctor Patterson agreed with me when I approached him about why I wanted the files.
Accepting the folders at the room door, I neatly spread them out on the countertop so I could leaf through the pages each file presented.
I learned several pieces of information about various hospital employees involved in Cody's care but nothing that raised a red flag.
"So far so good," I determined running the palm of my hand across my face in contemplation.
Restacking the files I suddenly realized one was conspicuously absent. This immediately caught my attention.
"Could it be possible?" I asked myself knowing at the moment I trusted no one until I cleared their file.
Meddling into another man's business is a bad bet. Or so I have been told several times over the course of my life. Usually by some deranged madman I hunted in the line of duty. When it came to Bee-Bo interference was a lethal proposition. Taking no action against him was a lost cause.
I picked up the receiver on the telephone in Cody's room and dialed a number I was becoming all too familiar with. The phone range several times but there was no answer.
Just the voice of Miranda Browning stating "We're sorry but no one is available to take your call."
Then on the line came that famous, "Please leave your name, number, and a brief message and we will return your call as soon as possible. Thank you."
Next to be heard was the slight pause these messages always contain and that extremely annoying:
"BEEP.........!"
I did not leave a message but I would be calling this number back shortly. Doctor Donald Patterson had some serious explaining to do about a couple of issues. Neither one of them would wait long.
I never encountered Doctor Patterson before this situation with Cody arose. Now I had some misgivings. When my still inner voice tells me something experience has taught me to listen. And an alarm was sounding loudly.
But, I did not dwell in Neverland for long. A rustling emitted from Cody's bed. Quickly it yanked me back into the environment I dwelt in for the last six weeks. Was my Little Man finally waking up from his lengthy slumber? I could only hope he was. In my book Cody had already been gone much too long!
"Dad!" I heard a frightened Cody cry out with a tone of uncertainty about his surroundings in his voice . He sounded like a lost little lamb.
This was the first time Cody ever called me by that name and I was not about to correct him. Nor would I ever forget it. Lightning quick I moved across the room beside Cody and placed the palms of my hands on the top rail of his bed.
Then I thought to myself, "You blatant idiot, Daniels! Give that boy what you both need the most."
I reached down and hugged Cody as tightly as his laying flat on his back would allow me to. I could tell we both needed that hug more than we ever needed anything else before.
Noticing his blue eyes open for the first time in 42 days I gave Cody the biggest smile I could muster and asked him, "So, you decided to rejoin the land of the living did you, Little Man?"
He softly replied, "Yes."
He did not need to say anything more. It was all I could do to keep the moisture building up inside me out of my eyes.
I asked Cody, "You've been gone a long time. How do you feel son?"
Cody's eyes grew wider as he surveyed the room he was in for the first time. He saw all the stuffed animals scattered around the room. And, wouldn't you know it? The one he wanted was the grey wolf Bee-Bo left him upon his unwanted visit.
Why didn't it surprise me of all the stuffed toys in the room Cody would want that wolf? Should I allow the boy to have the toy his heart desired although he had no idea what the story behind it was? Or should I forbid him from possessing that wolf because it came from a very dangerous criminal who threatened to harm Cody? Under the circumstances, a very tough dilemma.
"Daniels, why didn't you throw that blasted wolf out the window when you had the chance?" I angrily, and silently, demanded of myself not wanting Cody to hear my question.
I tried another approach. "You have lots of furballs all waiting for you to claim them, Cody," I tried encouraging his desire for any one of the others and divert his attention off the wolf. To no avail. Of course.
Wolves are Cody's favorite animals. The blanket on his bed at home is wolf-imprinted. Several of his playshirts have different wolf scenes emblazoned on them. And Cody owns a variety of other trinkets of the lone hunter species.
I reached over to pick a furry teddy bear up to give to Cody. This one wore a military uniform. Cody constantly enjoys playing with his toy soldiers.
"They always win the war!" he readily declares every time I catch him in his bedroom tinkering around with his green Army men.
The slight frown on Cody's face when he saw me pick up the bear told me he had no current interest in the stuffed toy I preferred him to have. Reluctantly I reached for the wolf and Cody's eyes lit up bright and shiny like a Christmas tree all aglow. That monster was what Cody wanted and he would not be satisfied with anything else.
I picked the wolf up from where it stood guard like a sentry on a dark night and asked Cody, "What are you going to name him?"
"Blazer," he told me without hesitation.
As much as I despised Bee-Bo, and as much as I hated where this wolf came from, I knew this was a battle royal I could not win. I laid Blazer across the middle of Cody's chest. He squeezed the wolf tightly with his right arm.
When I looked down at Cody he was asleep...again!
"No!" I vehemently protested like a little boy about to be severely punished for a crime he did not commit, "This is not fair!" I stammered.
| Author Notes |
After 42 days in a coma Cody wakes up...but only temporarily.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
"What's not fair, Sheriff?" Someone asked me.
Although I no longer held the office most people in Astatula still referred to me in that manner. Perhaps it was wishful thinking on their part. Or maybe it was a subtle suggestion that I reclaim my proper station in town.
It was Mama Rosie, Cody's Lead Nurse. She came into the room to routinely check on her young patient.
Wrapped up in conversing with Cody, I did not realize she entered the room and was standing next to me. She placed her warm hand on my wrist.
"After all this time of patiently waiting Cody was just awake and talking to me about his new friend Blazer," I answered her pointing the grey wolf out to Mama Rosie so she knew what I was referring to. "Now he's asleep again. It's not fair!" I protested.
"Sugar," Mama Rosie tried to convince me in her tender way of addressing people, "Cody is going to be okay."
I looked up at her not sure I agreed with her assessment. I guess she sensed my doubt about her proclamation.
A little more sternly, in her mothering way, Mama Rosie looked back at me and stated, "You listen here to me Sheriff. Out there past those doors you may be the law and order in this town making everything all right. But in here nature takes its course."
Softening her tone she continued with, "Cody's doing exactly what coma patients do."
"What's that?" I asked her.
"This ain't the Hollywood movies where coma patients come awake and immediately pick up right where they left off," Mama Rosie sympathetically explained the facts of life to me.
"Here in the real world Sugar," she said a little more gently, "they usually only stay awake for a few minutes the first time they wake up. So you see Sheriff nature's taking it's rightful course."
I stared back at Mama Rosie unsure I liked that proposition and wondered, "What if I don't like the course nature is taking?"
Definitely, in this case I did not! Not one little bit.
In her plain talking, straight from the hip style Mama Rosie told me whether I wanted to hear what she had to say or not, "Then hold on for the ride of your life Sheriff. 'Cause there ain't nothing you can do about that."
I sensed I did not want to hear the rest of what Mama Rosie was about to tell me but she finished saying it any way, "Then gradually coma patients stay awake for longer periods of time until they reach some degree of normalcy again."
What Mama Rosie told me meant I had more waiting to do although I was up to my eyeballs in the quagmire. However, if Cody needed more time I wasn't going anywhere.
"You know Rosie," I began, "when I was talking to Cody, just before you came in the room, for the first time ever Cody called me Dad," I proudly announced.
Encouragingly, like she always was, Mama Rosie playfully slapped my arm and remarked, "There you go Sheriff!"
I allowed a smile and Mama Rosie told me, "A bird in a cage will forget how to sing Sheriff. Give Cody some wings and let him fly back to you."
Removing her stethoscope from around her neck she said, "Now step back out of the way so I can tend to my patient."
I knew Mama Rosie was right. I also knew this was a highly intelligent woman I was speaking to. For that, and her comforting friendship, I was grateful.
I stepped back out of her way.
| Author Notes |
A disheartened Brock Daniels and Mama Rosie, Cody's Lead Nurse, converse about Cody's condition.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
(30 years earlier in Portland, Oregon)
Mark Bannister, my 11-year-old boyhood best friend, who is now known exclusively as Bee-Bo the Clown, and I arrived at the Little League baseball diamond together.
Coming to a screeching halt we slammed the brakes on our ten-speed Schwinn bicycles on hard and spun our back tires around in the dirt.
Laughing heartily we exchanged High Fives and exclaimed, "Oh yeah!"
Once again we were the kings of the world!
Known as two miscreants, Mark and I did everything together. We hung out at the Rose Valley Mall playing arcade games and copied each other's homework assignments instead of doing the work ourselves. We even wore each other's favorite clothes and tag teamed in skirmishes with other boys.
With a silver spoon stuck in his mouth, Mark was born into abstract wealth and privilege as the son of the owners of the Bannister Rose Packing and Shipping Company. Portland's largest rose distribution plant.
Doted on, and spoiled rotten to the core, Mark wanted for nothing. All he did was whine a little, pout some, and whatever he desired suddenly appeared in his hand. On the surface it appeared Mark lived a charmed life.
However, Mark's socialite parents frequently entertained Portland's elite Upper Crust. This left his daily care to a long string of nannies. They did not remain for any length of time in the position. Most of them claimed they were seriously mistreated by the snobbish Bannisters.
The youngest of three sons, I was born Brock Patrick Daniels on November 13, 1974. My Dad was the strict, no-nonsense, Foreman of the Bannister Rose Packing and Shipping Company. The Bannister's crown jewel. That was how Mark and I first met.
Never a stranger to my Dad's belt I was taught from an early age to always own my actions.
Because as my Dad constantly told me, "They define who you are and reflect adverse reactions from others."
He wanted us all to be more successful in life than he was. And one way or the other all three of his sons would be. A typical Dad's feelings.
Today's game, and the reason Mark and I were at the ballpark, was an important one. Winning meant advancing to the Regional Championship game. Visions of Williamsport, Pennsylvania, where the Little League World Series is contested every year, danced in our dreams.
The possibility was not out of the question. Our team, The Gunslingers, was good. Real good. We were undefeated and could see the carrot dangling at the end of the stick. All The Gunslingers had to do was reach out and grab our prize.
Mark was sure he would be the starting pitcher for us that day. After all, he was the second best flame thrower in the league we competed in. Our Manager, Justin Winslow, decided differently and gave the nod to me.
"Why does Brock get to pitch this game?" Mark demanded unhappy with the coach's decision, "I should be!" he protested.
"Because Brock possesses a much better curveball than you do Mark," Coach Winslow answered him.
Mark would be my catcher. I would also bat Lead Off. A position Mark frequently held.
With the bases empty, and the score tied 3 to 3 in the bottom of the last inning, I came up to bat. I was just looking for a way to get on base and start a rally. After a quick glance at my family seated in the stands along the firstbase sideline, and taking a couple practice swings, I settle into my stance at home plate.
"Knock a home run son!" I heard my Dad holler at me.
My Dad and I were very close. He was always there for me. I looked back at him and said, "This one's for you Dad!"
The pitcher wound up. He kicked his leg and grooved a fastball down the middle of the plate. I cut loose as hard as I could swing the bat and smashed the pitch! The ball banged loudly off the centerfield wall and I was off to the races.
The ball ricocheted away from their Centerfielder and rolled back in the direction of the infield. I rounded second base keeping the play in front of me. The Centerfielder retrieved the baseball as I made third base. Doing so I misstepped on the base and felt my right ankle twist.
I limped on since I was already half way home and slid into homeplate on my stomach. I scored the winning run just ahead of the catcher's tag to my tail end. The Gunslingers fans erupted into loud cheers!
My teammates, with the noticeable exception of one, wildly celebrated around me. I rolled over on my back writhing in agony. My severely twisted ankle ballooning! I would have to be helped off the field.
Slapping the back of his catcher's mitt with the palm of his right hand Mark walked past me without saying a word. Instead of a congratulatory comment he gave me a cold stare. I was puzzled by my friend's hostility. What I did not realize was the first seed of resentment between the two of us had been deeply planted and began festering. There would be several more.
In Mark's mind he must have thought something along the lines of, " I'm tired of always having to play Second Banana to you Brock!"
Later, Mark's resentment would boil over and his animosity towards me would come to a screeching head! At the time of this game I had no idea on what grand a scale Mark's rage would manifest itself. No one did.
Unfortunately, we would all find out!
| Author Notes |
This chapter provides the beginning of the backstory behind how Brock Daniels boyhood best friend Mark Bannister became Bee-Bo the Clown, his Arch Nemesis.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Somehow Mark and I managed to maintain our bonds of friendship through our high school graduation. We laughed at the same films, dated each other's girlfriends, and even obtained our first employment together at Rita's Rose Petal Diner.
I poured sodas for spending money and Mark washed dishes.
A job he told Rita "Was below his dignity as a member of Portland's Elite."
He quit an hour after we started. Walking off the floor in the middle of a busy shift was typical of him. Since this occurred on a Saturday night it placed the rest of the crew in a precarious position.
Mark just shrugged the incident off on his way out the door saying, "Oh well!"
His "I'm the only thing that matters attitude" evident.
I graduated in the Top Five percent of my class. This achievement presented many golden opportunities to me. I chose to enlist in the Army as a Military Police Officer because I desired to see the great big world out there I knew waited to be explored.
After completing Basic Training in Alabama I was shipped to Ansbach, Germany. Bavaria became my extent of traveling the globe. However, I did visit Rome and Greece while I resided in Europe.
Mark remained in Portland. He did not achieve much of anything during these years except as he constantly complained to whoever would listen to him moan the blues about as he put it, "Managing to get himself permanently estranged from his family."
He also lost all the financial benefits that came with being a Bannister in the blossoming Portland rose industry. Coincidentally, his father now owned three mills processing timber around the clock as well.
Upon completing my military enlistment obligations I returned to the City of Roses taking a Summer sabbatical. I used my GI Bill benefits to attend the University of Oregon in Eugene. There this Duck, which happens to be the mascot of the University of Oregon, discovered his hidden passion for criminal justice.
While I was in Eugene, Mark attended clown school because as he said, "Everything to him was a big joke any way."
It was then the disparities between us widened and unbeknown to me, Mark's resentment of all I accomplished through hard work, significantly compounded. He squandered every opportunity to make something out of himself he was ever allotted. Mark never accepted the responsibility. The blame always had to be placed on somebody else. Whoever he could target.
As Mark saw the situation, "Life owed him a living. All he needed to do was sit back and collect the premiums that came his way."
Unfortunately, Mark missed the boat. He rapidly learned that is not how life works. Broke, Mark accepted a job with the Turner Traveling Show and found his calling. Much to the chagrin of those around him he became Bee-Bo the Clown. This character provided Mark a new identity and a costume to hide behind.
"Who would ever believe a clown could be as heartless and cold-blooded as Bee-Bo turned out to be?" I have often wondered.
After graduating from college, and the Police Academy, I became a Deputy Sheriff for the city of Portland. On the last night before the Turner Traveling Show departed the fairgrounds where they were performing, Bee-Bo robbed his first Convenience Store, shot his first clerk, and swiped his first boy in a long line of commodities he traded in.
Bee-Bo could not resist the easy money that was offered him for the child. The twelve-year-old boy, Roger Quinland, was snatched from the parking lot of the fairgrounds property after attending the circus performance alone. He was never recovered. I would hate to know what the lad's demise was? With Bee-Bo I can only speculate.
Knowing Bee-Bo's history it may well have ended inside a wood chipper. In no way would Cody's future be the same! As I detailed these scenarios to Beth I realized how much I needed to have my Sheriff's badge returned to me. Especially since I decided it was Open Season on one not-so-funny clown. A telephone call to Mayor Duncan resolved that matter.
Now the playing field was much more level. I watched the ominous dark storm clouds forming on the horizon. A State of Emergency had been declared and Bee-Bo was the target. My first act upon resumption of my position as the Sheriff was to place an all-points bulletin on Mark Bannister.
My second act was to maintain Vernon Brewer as my new Deputy. He would not shoot Cody. At least I did not believe he would. That by itself was an improvement. Astatula was in for a fight between two long time arch-nemeses.
I was ready. Was Bee-Bo? He started this conflict and drew first blood. One way or another I would end it. And to me it did not matter how the cards fell!
Then Cody flatlined!
| Author Notes |
Brock Daniels continues to provide backstory on his history with Bee-Bo the Clown.
In doing so he realizes it is time to return to his position as the Sheriff of Astatula. |
By Brett Matthew West
Seems like everybody in Astatula knew about Cody's demise. It was all they gossiped about. Draping the string on the tag over the big toe on Cody's right foot I officially listed him as the tenth victim of the Astatula Assassin.
I knew this was the second saddest day of my life. The first was the day my son Tyler died in my arms from Meningitis when he was six months old. Now it appeared my Little Man was gone too.
Compassionately placing his hand on the top of my left shoulder Deputy Brewer offered, "I'll handle the scene here if you want me to Brock. It's the least I can do."
I looked back at Verne and replied, "No, I'll handle it. This is something I have to take care of myself."
I held my emotions in check the best I could. It wasn't easy.
Deputy Brewer did not say another word. Which I appreciated. He stepped back and moved over to Beth who sat like a stunned statue in the far corner of the room. Her face buried in a towel to muffle her crying.
Taking one last look at Cody's face, and seeing his eyes tightly closed, I knew none of the things I planned to do with him would ever come to fruition. I also realized all the words I still wanted to say to him would remain unsaid.
Nor would I get to share in watching him grow up or know what he would become. That was gone with the wind. It took all the strength I could muster to pull the sheet up over Cody's blond head. I did not want to.
As the Montegue Funeral Home attendees wheeled Cody's body out of his hospital room I tenderly placed my arm around Beth's shoulders. I could feel her trembling. We fell in line behind the gurney and followed Cody out to the waiting midnight black hearse that would transport him to the morgue.
Each step we took became harder and harder to manage. Our legs were weakening down the corridor to the elevator, as the elevator descended, and especially outside when we saw the back doors of the hearse open. We knew what that meant. Cody's body was placed inside and the doors on our lives closed forever. We would ride with Cody to his destination.
The next morning's edition of the Astatula Gazette newspaper's front page headlines screamed in big, dark black, boldface print, "Hometown Hero Cody Schroder Succumbs To Gunshot Wound Inflicted By Astatula Assassin!"
Which is just what I wanted them to report.
Peter Lewis, the same Editor who blasted me for resigning as Sheriff to attend to Cody wrote the accompanying story detailing Cody's heroics at Sullivan Lake. He also allowed me to proof the copy before the article was printed.
Beth and I decided there would be no public viewing. Cody only needed to rest in peace now. I told Mama Rosie to donate the stuffed animals Cody was given in the hospital to other less fortunate patients.
"Cody would have wanted it that way," I solemnly said.
Mama Rosie assured me she would gather them and donate each one as I had designated. Except for Blazer. The grey wolf Cody wanted those few minutes he woke up before slipping back into the coma. I had another plan for Blazer.
Three days later it was pouring rain as Beth and I stood, dressed completely in black from head to toe, at Cody's graveside. Beth held an umbrella tightly in her left hand trying to keep as much rain off her as possible. Not that she really cared. Beth held me just as tightly with her other arm.
The lid on Cody's casket stood open in the middle of his grave. I wanted it that way long enough for me to place Blazer on top of the body in the casket. Then it was securely sealed and lowered into the ground along with our broken, unmendable hearts.
Beth and I remained at Cody's grave while the workers began covering his casket with fill dirt. I picked up a shovel standing nearby and drove its blade into the dirt. Then I tossed the contents I scooped up on top of Cody's casket.
That part of the chore completed, I stood the shovel back up in the dirt pile beside the grave and observed as the front end loader began to pick up dirt and fill in Cody's grave.
"Thank you Cody for being the very best son a man could ever want," I told him, saying, "you touched me for a season. I will remember you for eternity! I love you son!"
With heavy hearts Beth and I slowly walked away from Cody's grave.
Safely out of sight, and half-hidden behind several headstones, Bee-Bo sat smoking a joint and observing all that transpired.
"Awww! How touching Daniels! How very touching! You almost make Bee-Bo want to cry," he mumbled mocking the scene he had just witnessed at Cody's burial..
He continued with, "But I'm not done with you yet. Not by a long shot! In fact I'm just beginning."
Then he warned, "The fawn may be in the stewpot but I have big plans for that doe!"
Bee-Bo inhaled another long draw of the rolled burning grass he held in his hand. Slowly he blew out the smoke ring and skipped gleefully out of the graveyard unnoticed by the two mourners.
"I deserve a special treat!" Bee-Bo said to himself pleased that Cody Schroder no longer existed.
He knew what he had in mind and he knew where to find his pleasure.
| Author Notes |
Cody is laid to rest.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
I could not pull out of the exit taking Beth and I away from the Woodlawn Memorial Gardens Cemetery fast enough.
Heading east on the pavement that constituted Highway 42, wouldn't you know it? The sun was trying to peep out from behind the sinister grey clouds it hid behind all morning.
The rain was quickly relenting. No longer was it coming down in torrential sheets like it was before. That is Texas weather for you. If you do not like the current conditions wait a moment. They will change.
The two drenched rats chasing this cheese could not wait to return to the Safe House. Actually not much more than a hunting cabin, the word house provided the structure too much credit.
Beth and I were both soaked to the skin from the downpour at the gravesite. A small price to pay for what we did.
Located in the middle of a quarter acre clearing, the cabin was surrounded on all four sides by a heavily wooded cluster of trees of several varieties. Only a handful of people were aware the cabin existed. Those who needed to know.
Previously I housed other cases in this location for their protection. The cargo I stashed away this time was the most precious of all. At least to us it was.
Arriving at our destination, I turned sharply through a narrow, partially overgrown path just wide enough to squeeze my vehicle through and entered the grotto. Carefully crossing the ruts in the ground so as to not pop a tire I rolled up to the front porch of the cabin and stopped my truck.
"This place isn't much but it will suffice for now," Beth commented, "so will a warm cappuccino."
Beth understood the gravity of the situation we faced with Bee-Bo and the threats The Clown made. I knew he was more than capable of carrying out exactly what he claimed he could do. The problem was how to keep the bloodshed I realized was about to be spilled to a minimum?
We knew Cody would be waiting for us when we reached the cabin. Barefooted. The way he always ran around. Go ahead. You try keeping shoes on that boy's feet. I quit that battle many moons ago. Cody was the reason I selected the solitude of this property.
Getting out of the truck Beth asked Cody, who was standing on the wooden front porch of the cabin when we pulled up, to grab the bag of groceries off the backseat of the pickup and take them inside the cabin so she could put them away.
A very welcome sight to behold indeed, Cody was not only awake from his coma, he was becoming more of his old self with each passing day. Most importantly, Cody was very much alive. He played his part in being transported from Astatula General Hospital to the morgue splendidly. Never missing a beat. I was so proud of him.
Upon our arrival at the morgue placing a mannequin in the coffin Beth and I buried was a simple task. The whole "Cody's Death-And-Funeral" scene was a ruse we staged to convince Bee-Bo that Cody died and remove him from The Clown's crosshairs.
Bee-Bo is not the only one who can stage a star-studded performance. Cody would no longer be a target of the deranged killer.
Beth would remain with Cody at the cabin until I recaptured Bee-Bo and securely returned him lock, stock and barrel back inside prison walls where he belonged. Or killed him. Whichever came first on my bucket list.
Standing on the wooden slat porch of the cabin where he was when Beth and I pulled up, Cody teasingly asked me, "Who rained on your parade Dad?"
I stepped up on the porch beside Cody. Hearing him call me Dad warmed me to the core like nothing else I knew could ever do. I did not correct him. I saw no point in doing so.
Ever since Cody woke up from the coma he was in Dad was all he called me by. Cody and I were a whole lot closer now than we were before that incident occurred.
I pulled Cody to me. Right where he needs to remain. Playfully, I mussed his baby-fine blond hair with my hand then reached down and firmly swatted him on the seat of his jeans. It felt good to have my Little Man back again.
"Go get those groceries out of the truck like Beth asked you to do Squirt," I repeated the request.
"Yes sir," Cody replied bouncing down the three steps leading up to the porch we stood on like he possessed a spring in his tail end. BOING! BOING! BOING!
With the fob in my hand I pressed the button to unlock the door. Cody grabbed the bag of food off the backseat of the truck.
"Make sure you close the door behind you when you're done Little Man," I reminded Cody.
It was not long before a loud SLAM! echoed through the grotto.
"Save the pieces of the truck there Kiddo if you don't mind!" I called over to Cody with a smile on my face.
I could never stay mad at him long. And Cody knew it too.
Cody's antics never ceased to amaze me. I turned around and opened the door leading into the cabin. Dry clothes would be a welcome relief.
| Author Notes |
Beth and Sheriff Daniels arrive at the Safe House where Cody has been stashed away for safe keeping and protection from Bee-Bo.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Doctor Donald Patterson was scared. He was more terrified than he had ever been before in his entire life. He held a real good reason to be. Bee-Bo blamed him for Cody Schroder's demise. That gave Doctor Patterson all the cause he needed to be mortally afraid.
Perhaps he should have flown to Europe with his family that morning from the Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport? Lufthansa Flight 1614 would whisk them all to safety. He hoped. With Bee-Bo it was impossible to tell. There was no predicting what The Clown was capable of doing.
However, he made the decision to remain behind and attempt to reason with Bee-Bo. After all, he did everything The Clown asked him to do when they first discussed the possibility of selling Cody Schroder into the Sex Trade. That was Bee-Bo's specialty. The sound of easy money appealed to Doctor Patterson. So he gave into what The Clown wanted him to do.
Now, with an unhappy Bee-Bo lurching about, and in deep thought, Doctor Patterson wondered to himself as he turned left onto Forsythe Drive, "Of all the boneheaded mistakes you have made in your life how could you possibly have gotten involved with Bee-Be of all people?"
Racking his brain, he had no answer. Maybe the $100,000 in the briefcase on the seat beside him, he withdrew from the bank before he departed to meet The Clown, would allow the doctor to keep breathing air? Somehow he seriously doubted it would. Another pipe dream down the drain.
Doctor Patterson knew his remaining alive was Bee-Bo's decision alone to make. The prospects did not look promising. At least, perhaps, the money would be enough to spare his family. No doubt his life was over.
With beads of perspiration wetting his forehead, Doctor Patterson could feel his chest tighten. His breathing became laborious. Was he having a heart attack, he wondered? He had plenty of reason to. He reached up with a folded handkerchief and patted his face dry. Doctor Patterson knew he must force himself to keep driving. Bee-Bo awaited him.
"Get a grip on yourself Patterson," the doctor muttered. The words of encouragement were not sufficient.
He turned onto the two-lane Cunningham Place. Only a couple miles remained until he reached his final destination. The word "final" made Doctor Patterson shudder. He realized he better think of something, and decide a plan of action, pronto! It was his only chance of survival. Running away was not an option because Bee-Bo would hunt him down.
"Why didn't you just turn your personnel file over to Sheriff Daniels when he asked you for it?" became Doctor Patterson's next ponderment.
"Because you did not want the Sheriff to discover your involvement in Cody Schroder's coma," Doctor Patterson reluctantly answered his own question.
Attempting to justify his unethical actions Doctor Patterson said, "You had to put Cody Schroder in a medically-induced coma because you were losing him on the operating table. And Bee-Bo demanded the boy be kept alive any way necessary until he could claim his prized possession."
"Yes. That was as good an excuse as any other," Doctor Patterson prided himself on his intelligence believing, "it might just work."
Doctor Patterson knew Cody should never have been placed in a coma. There was no reason for him to be. Except for the doctor's own greed. There was no bona fide medical explanation for his actions. And Cody Schroder should have remained in that coma until he was brought out of it by Doctor Patterson himself. He should not have woken up on his own.
But somehow, as far as Doctor Patterson was concerned, "The little widget did wake up and by doing so he ruin everything!"
At the intersection where the Delando Hardware Store was located, Doctor Patterson turned right on Milledge Ridge Road. The small town of Astatula was quickly giving way to secluded pasturelands. He was running out of time. Once again he started to fret. This time there was no avoiding the inevitable.
"Who was this Doctor Ulysses Noel Owen who signed Cody Schroder's Death Certificate any way?" he wanted to know.
In all the years Doctor Patterson worked at Astatula General Hospital he never once heard of any such Staff Physician at the medical center. He must be some Newbie. Or some fill-in sent over by the Maretta Healthcare Staffing Services Group. They were always meddling into affairs they should not have been.
In rapid fire succession several questions popped into Doctor Patterson's worried mind including wasn't he Cody Schroder's Primary Care Physician? And, why wasn't he notified the boy expired? They all came back to one simple answer he could not avoid: because he was too busy shirking his responsibilities once Sheriff Daniels began investigating. And Doctor Patterson knew his actions being discovered would mean the loss of his practice. So he laid low hoping it would all just go away.
Then it hit Doctor Patterson like a ton of lead bricks. "U" "N" Owen. Unknown. There was no death certificate. Cody Schroder was not dead. That would be his saving grace with Bee-Bo. His life was spared!
Still the walls continued pressing in on Doctor Patterson from all sides. Would Bee-Bo believe him? Absentmindedly, he almost missed his turnoff. The abandoned shack stood out like a sore thumb in the middle of the sprawling pasture. This was where Bee-Bo told him their meeting would occur. Bee-Bo was pacing like a caged panther ready to strike as Doctor Patterson stopped his car.
An uneasy feeling settled over Doctor Patterson. He could read the handwriting on the wall. Bee-Bo approached his stopped Lexus. There was no smile on The Clown's face. For good reason Doctor Patterson's fear heightened. He sensed the end was near.
| Author Notes |
Doctor Patterson, Cody's Primary Care Physician at Astatula General Hospital has some tall explaining to do to The Clown.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Ever since his experience in the Woodlawn Memorial Gardens Cemetery Bee-Bo had been a very sad clown. Bee-Bo did not like to be sad. He had a buyer all lined up for Cody Schroder. His ultimate revenge against Brock Daniels. Now, thanks to Doctor Patterson's screw-up, there was no more Cody Schroder.
When Bee-Bo was sad somebody paid a very steep price! All morning he anticipated Doctor Patterson's arrival at their designated meeting place. Bee-Bo planned a big welcoming for his guest. One Doctor Patterson would never forget. And it wasn't balloons or a cake.
The more Bee-Bo considered the loss of Cody Schroder, and the loss of the money his buyer offered him for the boy, the madder Bee-Bo became. Not a good combination. When Bee-Bo raged the picture was not very pretty! Good thing his trusty wood chipper was ready.
"Won't Doctor Patterson be so surprised to see my favorite toy?" Bee-Bo happily asked himself.
Bee-Bo allowed himself a slight smile. The whir of a running wood chipper was sweet music to The Clown's ears. Having been locked up in that awful prison all those years it'd been a long time since Bee-Bo enjoyed the pleasure. Today he most definitely would. But not Doctor Patterson!
A long, slow, agonizing death is what Bee-Bo planned for him. Doctor Patterson lied to Bee-Bo. He promised to keep Cody Schroder alive. But he failed to honor his promise. Bee-Bo could not oblige an untruth teller like Doctor Patterson.
Before Doctor Patterson could exit his vehicle Bee-Bo yanked open the car door. He grabbed the doctor by the throat, squeezed tightly, and jerked him out from behind the wheel. Doctor Patterson stumbled. Momentarily losing his footing he started to fall. Bee-Bo caught him. He securely tied his quarry's hands behind his back with the rope he brought with him to their little meeting.
"Bee-Bo wait! I can explain," Doctor Patterson began. The fear washing over him like a waterfall.
Right up in his face and breathing fire The Clown retorted, "Explain why you failed Bee-Bo!"
'I kept my promise Bee-Bo," Doctor Patterson told him. Then he remembered the excuse he planned to use and said, "I was losing Cody Schroder on the operating table so I put him in a coma. That way he wouldn't wake up until you came to claim him."
Bee-Bo wasn't buying the doctor's explanation, "You let him die any way!" he exclaimed.
Backed up against the hood of the car Doctor Patterson saw the wood chipper and a five gallon can of gasoline sitting nearby. He certainly did not like what he observed. An axe blade was buried into a half-rotted stump next to them. Bee-Bo noticed the worried expression on the doctor's face. The sign of fear brought pleasure to The Clown.
"We will get to that part later Doctor Patterson!" Bee-Bo assured him, "And soon!"
Grasping what Bee-Bo said to him, and suddenly desperate, Doctor Patterson tried another angle, "We can work all this out Bee-Bo. No need to do anything irrational here!"
Bee-Bo savagely sliced Doctor Patterson's right cheek with his boxcutter. It was his favorite implement for dissecting. "I'll decide what we're going to do here!" he viciously snapped.
Just as quickly he produced a matching slice on the doctor's left cheek. Each jagged cut ran a fountain of crimson down the doctor's face. Bee-Bo was only getting warmed up. He had a long way to go. Before he was done Doctor Patterson would beg The Clown to kill him.
"There's a hundred thousand dollars in the case on the front seat of the car," Doctor Patterson informed Bee-Bo in a feeble attempt to stop the bloodletting from occurring, "take it all!" he pled.
"Bee-Bo don't want your money, you ignorant fool!" The Clown replied with a smile, "Bee-Bo have much more fun slowly torturing you to death! That's what Bee-Bo wants."
Once the nightmare began Doctor Patterson could not stop the horror of what Bee-Bo would do to him. He watched The Clown bend over and pick up the gas can. Bee-Bo untwisted its cap and removed it from the container. Then did the same thing with the gas cap on the wood chipper.
"Bee-Bo please! Think of my wife and children," Doctor Patterson cried in earnest pleading for mercy he knew would not come his way.
"I already have," Bee-Bo sinisterly snared back at him filling up the gas tank on the wood chipper then tightening the two caps he held in his hand where they belonged.
Placing the resealed gas can back on the ground he stated, "Your wife and oldest kid will soon follow you."
Then he paused for dramatic effect and grinned, "And your little baby? Well, Bee-Bo already has a buyer all lined up for him. Nothing like ground meat on a hot Texas day."
Doctor Patterson fought against the rope that bound him in a valiant manner. It was no use. He could not free himself. He was tied too snuggly for that. In one last effort he played his ace-in-the-hole card and informed Bee-Bo, "Cody Schroder is alive!"
Bee-Bo heard the proclamation loud and clear. He walked up face to face with the doctor, pointed a long, boney finger in his victim's face, and stated, "Once again you lie to Bee-Bo. Bee-Bo hates liars!" He screamed.
The Clown proceeded to carve a "B" in the middle of Doctor Patterson's forehead and said, "Daniels buried the worthless piece of crap! Bee-Bo saw him."
"I don't know what Sheriff Daniels buried Bee-Bo," Doctor Patterson replied in tears, "but it wasn't Cody Schroder! You have to believe me Bee-Bo!"
With a razor-sharp knife Bee-Bo extracted out of the back pocket of his pants he sliced off Doctor Patterson's left ear clean with the sideburn.
"Where is he?" Bee-Bo demanded.
"I don't know Bee-Bo. I wish I did!" Doctor Patterson hysterically responded to The Clown's question.
Bee-Bo squeezed the nostrils of Doctor Patterson's nose closed twice saying, "Beep! Beep!"
With one fell swoop he removed the extremity off the doctor's face with his blade. It fell to the ground.
"You don't know enough to deserve to live any longer!" Bee-Bo informed the doctor, "So, now you die!"
As Doctor Patterson released one final scream, Bee-Bo removed his head from his neck. Doctor Patterson's body fell in a heap on the ground. His head rolled two feet away. Bee-Bo walked over and removed the axe from the tree stump that contained its blade. He set to work.
Humming that old familiar "I've Been Working On The Railroad All The Live Long Day" tune Bee-Bo stripped the clothing off Doctor Patterson's remains. With his axe he began chopping the body into tiny little pieces beginning with the feet, the knees, the hips, the hands, the elbows, and finally the shoulders. All became sawdust in The Clown's chipper.
Cutting the torso in half, and stuffing it inside, the wood chipper made a slight grinding noise as Bee-Bo fed each part through the machine. Then Bee-Bo punted Doctor Patterson's head like a football. It sailed half way across the pasture.
Bee-Bo did not like to be sad. When Bee-Bo was sad somebody paid a very steep price!
| Author Notes |
Bee-Bo extracts revenge on Doctor Patterson for Cody Schroder's demise.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
The annual Potter County Fair was in full swing. This happening drew out almost every citizen in Astatula for six days and nights of carnival rides, Old West Shootouts, hot dogs, and kettle corn. Not to mention live musical performances and several sideshows.
Sheriff Daniels noticed a couple of young boys approaching a shooting booth. The object was to pop balloons to win a prize. The Barker saw the Sheriff coming.
Sheriff Daniels knew the boys would be given a pistol without a bent sight. His presence meant they had a sporting chance of winning the toy they were after. Cody and Beth were at his side.
This was the first time Sheriff Daniels produced Cody in town since ferreting him away. Most people who saw Cody gave the Sheriff a very quizzical look. For obvious reasons. Few of them asked any questions.
The Little Ketchup Monster was chomping away on his French Fries. Carefully licking the cheese sauce, and red stuff, off his fingers every time he stuffed one of the delicacies in his mouth. It was that or wipe the residue on his bluejeans. Which he knew Beth would murderize him for doing come clothes washing day.
"Let me try," Sheriff Daniels heard the chunky, curly-haired Joshua Thompson tell his friend, "you can't hit the broad side of a barn from three inches away!"
"Yes I can," Marty Davis protested. Wearing sandy hair and an outfit to match, he was the other boy standing there with Josh, "especially since I got new glasses," he boasted.
"Oh, just stand back and watch a pro at work!" Josh replied to Marty's comment as he took the pistol from the Barker.
"Pop three balloons in five shots and win your prize!" Sheriff Daniels heard the Barker remind the boy, "A strapping young man like you shouldn't miss a single shot!"
The Barker looked in the Sheriff's direction and told the boys, "Pop all five balloons and I'll give you each a prize of your choice!"
"Some times its good to be the Sheriff," Brock Daniels thought to himself knowing Josh, an avid deer hunter, was a crackerjack shot with a gun in his hand.
As Beth, Cody, and the Sheriff slowly moved on they heard, "Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! and Pop!"
Sheriff Daniels displayed a slight smile. He said to himself, "Good for the boys! That's what the Fair is all about. Having a good time."
Then he heard Josh and Marty claiming their prizes before running on to the next booth they wanted to try their luck at. Cody wasn't much into playing the games. He was a rider. Especially bumper cars and the Tilt-A-Whirl. Which was his destination.
The ride was a blast! As far as Cody was concerned. He especially enjoyed the chaotic motion the rapidly spinning car he rode in made. He knew he would be riding this attraction again and again. After his amazing thrill on the Tilt-A-Whirl, and being scrambled up like eggs in a blender, Cody located the facilities.
"Dad, I need to go to the little boys room," he told the Sheriff.
Sheriff Daniels knew it was the 16 ounce coke Cody gulped down in the hot Texas sun, like he was never going to drink again, passing through the boy. Heading in that direction the Sheriff decided a slight pause before moving on to the Ferris wheel would not be an issue. There were no pressing plans to be anywhere particular by any given time.
"All right Little Man," Sheriff Daniels replied back to Cody's announcement, "I'll go in with you."
"Dad," Cody modestly protested, "I'm big enough to go by myself."
"You knew the rules when we left the cabin," Sheriff Daniels did not hesitate to remind the boy, "with Bee-Bo running loose, and for safety sake, you are not allowed to be out of my, or Beth's, sight for any reason. And, any argument would do what?" he asked Cody.
"Result in us immediately returning to the Safe House," Cody replied knowing he had lost the battle.
Cody was having too much fun. This was the first time he ever attended a fair in his life. He did not want to leave without enjoying all it offered. Dejectedly, Cody did not say another word. He sagged his shoulders in defeat.
It was Sheriff Daniels who spoke more gently this time saying, "After you Little Man."
Cody took a step in the direction of the lavatory. Sheriff Daniels started to move with him. Beth, who remained quietly listening to their exchange of words reached out. She grabbed the Sheriff's arm.
"Let Cody go by himself Brock. What harm could possible happen to him in the boys room?" she softly asked, "Especially with us right outside the door waiting for him."
Sheriff Daniels acquiesced. "Go ahead Little Man," he reluctantly informed Cody saying, "you have five minutes. We'll wait right here for you until you're done."
Then he warned the boy, "You immediately come back out here when you're through! You hear me? We'll be waiting."
"Yes sir," Cody replied as he quickly stepped around the cement wall of the Men's Room in his carefree manner that endeared him to so many people. Sheriff Daniels and Beth observed the lively hub of activity circulating around the fairgrounds. An eerie feeling settled over the Sheriff. He almost went in after Cody.
Shortly, Beth glanced at the elegant timepiece on her wrist. "It's been five minutes Brock," she said urging the Sheriff, "maybe you should go check on Cody. Make sure he's okay."
"I'm on it!" the Sheriff remarked.
He walked around the same wall, and through the same entrance, Cody traversed a few minutes earlier figuring he would find the boy washing his hands. Sheriff Daniels found nobody at the sinks. He examined all five stalls in the facility. They were empty. Cody was not there.
Noticing a cut screen over an open window Sheriff Daniels raced to the sill. On the ledge he spotted a crumpled white cloth. Picking it up he instinctively sniffed the material and noticed a slight smell of chloroform. He knew lightning struck the power line.
With the cloth in his hand, Sheriff Daniels ran out to where he had left Beth standing to go retrieve Cody. Beth was nowhere to be found. Quickly Sheriff Daniels realized the gravity of the situation.
Bee-Bo!
| Author Notes |
Cody disappears at the Fair.
murderize - Cody's word for what Beth's reaction to him messing up his bluejeans with ketchup and cheese sauce would be. This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture it goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Coming out of his dazed state, Cody, the little banty rooster, was fighting mad about being kidnapped. "You look stupid with orange hair!" he remarked, adding, "Bet they could squeeze a gallon of juice out of each greasy strand you got!"
"Then you know who I am?" he was coyly asked.
"Yea, you're Mark Bannister...aka Pee-Pot the Pretend, Wannabe, Clown!" Cody replied not the least bit intimidated, or afraid, of his captor.
Cody was positioned on his hands and knees in the dirt. The place he'd remained since being unceremoniously deposited there when The Clown arrived with the boy at his secluded hideout. Cody did not know the location as the effects of the chloroform he was abducted under were only beginning to wear off.
"It's Bee-Bo!" The Clown retorted with a firm, swift kick to Cody's ribs, "And don't you ever forget my name again!"
The force of the blow took Cody's breath away. He did not know if any of them were broken. But pain racked his body. It had been a long time since Cody was assaulted like that. But not the first. His mind flashed back to Palo Pinto.
Cody refused to let his tormentor see him cry. Bee-Bo did not know what to make of the boy's fighting spirit. All of the other boys he kidnapped before were blubbering babies soon after realizing he had taken them. The Clown almost enjoyed Cody's spunk. But not quite! It irritated him that he was having such a hard time breaking Cody.
"There ain't no tears in these blue eyes!" Cody found the bravery to brag telling Bee-Bo, "And you ain't Earl Anthony Schroder! You're a punk!"
"You'll do a whole lot more than cry long before I'm done with you, Cody!" Bee-Bo most assuredly promised him.
The Clown tied Cody's arms tightly behind his back. Cody attempted to keep the feeling of circulation flowing through them. They were tingling.
Bee-Bo grabbed the boy by his right arm and jerked Cody to his feet like a rag doll being tossed aside, saying, "Get up!"
Backhanding Cody hard across the face The Clown sent the boy sailing across the shed.
"I'm not Earl Anthony Schroder. I'm your worst nightmare!" Bee-Bo heatedly informed Cody, "I don't need to lay a two-by-four up aside your head like Daddy Dearest did to make you believe what he did to you was child's play compared to what I am going to do to you!"
"If my hands weren't tied behind my back, and this was a fair fight, I'd stomp a mud hole the size of Texas in you!" Cody replied, "But you're a lily-livered coward!"
Bee-Bo yanked Cody up on his feet again. He punched the boy in the nose. Blood flowed out of it. Shoving Cody down on a wooden chair in the middle of the shed, Bee-Bo rapidly restrained him with rope. Cody immediately struggled against his bindings trying to free himself. To no avail. Bee-Bo fastened him too tautly to the chair for Cody to move.
Backhanding Cody one more time, Bee-Bo told him, "Shut up! If I wanted comments from the peanut gallery I'd ask for them."
"You wait till Sheriff Daniels finds me," Cody said, his lower lip split from The Clown's slap, "he's gonna kill you dead, Dee-Do!"
"I'd pave Brock Daniels a yellow brick road if it would get him here sooner!" Bee-Bo snapped back at Cody, "Oh, he's smart. Too smart for his own good. He'll figure out exactly where you're at. And when he gets here I've got fireworks bigger than the fourth of July waiting for him. And you, Cody, are the centerpiece of my main attraction. KER-BOOM!"
Again Cody fought to get loose from his restraints.
Noticing his herculean efforts Bee-Be told him, "You can't escape me Cody. And when I'm done with Brock Daniels this is my little secret for you..."
Bee-Bo walked over to the corner of the shed. From there he wheeled out his blood-stained wood chipper and two five gallon gas cans. He strolled over to Cody, grabbed a large handful of the boy's blond hair, and pulled it out of the top of his head by the roots. Cody remained silent.
"You won't be so tough much longer Cody," Bee-Bo assured him, "and when you crack don't beg for mercy. There won't be any!"
Bee-Bo laughed heartily. Cody spit a mouthful of saliva in The Clown's face. He did not miss his target. That infuriated Bee-Bo. The Clown pulled out his trusty box cutter. Cody watched him open the blade. Bee-Bo pressed the sharp point of the blade against Cody's right cheek. It nicked his skin slightly. Enough to draw blood.
"I could cut you ear to ear you little pig!" Bee-Bo threatened Cody, "But I need you alive. For now!"
He moved the box cutter closer to Cody's mouth and warned him, "One more sound out of you and I'll cut your tongue out of your mouth! Then we'll see what noise you make!"
Quickly Cody sealed his lips together. He could taste blood.
"That's better," Bee-Bo remarked, "now you sit there all nice and quiet like for Uncle Bee-Bo."
Cody about threw up from The Clown's comment. He stayed silent. Far from defeated. His many fights with Earl Anthony Schroder taught him when to pick and choose his attack points. In his mind his battle with Bee-Bo was not over.
Laughing hysterically, Bee-Bo picked up the two full gas cans and strutted outside like a proud peacock displaying its plume in all its shining glory. He scanned the horizon wondering why Brock Daniels did not appear? The Clown would be laying in wait when he did.
Inside the shed Cody heard Bee-Bo's sinister laughing one more time.
| Author Notes |
Cody and Bee-Bo's physical altercation.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my story. |
By Brett Matthew West
It took every bit of two grueling days and nights for the bloodhound in Sheriff Daniels to light on Cody's trail. He always prided himself on his tracking abilities. The unanswered question remained was the boy still alive? In Bee-Bo's clutches, Sheriff Daniels possessed no way of knowing.
One fact was crystal clear. Bee-Bo was soon to be dead either way that scenario played out! The least Sheriff Daniels could do was put The Clown out of his misery.
Sheriff Daniels knew he must stay focused on the task at hand. It was the only hope he maintained of finding Cody alive. The Sheriff was fully aware of what The Clown was capable of doing. For too long he'd witnessed the savagery of the madman.
No other monster Sheriff Daniels ever encountered butchered more innocent victims than Mark Bannister did. Sheriff Daniels could not allow Cody to be the cherry topping Bee-Bo's sundae.
Struck by the brutal fact Cody was snatched not ten feet away from him and Beth, right out from underneath their noses it seemed, Sheriff Daniels felt his insides were hollowed out by the boy's disappearance. A sharp stabbing pain pierced the Sheriff's heart. There was no comforting relief to be found. Cody was all the Sheriff could think about.
His mind kept repeating, "This whole situation with Bee-Bo needs long overdue closure."
All in all The Clown's crime spree was by far the worst of Sheriff Daniels career. There were already more than enough unfortunate stories circulating about Bee-Bo's vaunted accomplishments to last a life time. Ominous black clouds swirled around the West Texas sky. Sheriff Daniels constant thought was the demise of The Clown. That was the only way this nightmare would end.
With Cody in The Clown's possession, Sheriff Daniels whole life became one single notion. He was obsessed with eradicating Bee-Bo. Seldom did the Sheriff see a picture as clearly as he did the canvas containing the painting he was invaded by now. And, Beth's whereabouts remained another mystery? She simply vanished into thin air. Too soon after Cody did.
Sheriff Daniels refused to consider the possibilities of the two incidents being connected together. There must be much more to the story than first entered his mind.
"No way would Beth be involved in Bee-Bo's snatching Cody!" he thought.
The idea was too preposterous for the Sheriff to consider.
"There must be another viable explanation for this occurrence" he believed.
At the moment Sheriff Daniels did not know what it could be.
Heading out of Astatula, without a passing thought, Sheriff Daniels realized he too was now a victim of Bee-Bo's crimes. Hurrying along the dirt, two-lane, Eight Rivers Road the Sheriff turned on to County Route 2. The road, if you could call it that, lead through the rolling pastures of the many farms constituting the town's outskirts. The twisting road led him South. His bulldog focus intensified.
The secluded farm he sought was now in sight. Sheriff Daniels knew it had not been occupied as a dwelling for the better part of the last four years. Unkempt and overgrown, the farm once belonged to the Greers. But, since Carl Greer's election to the Texas State House of Representatives, no one bothered to caretake the property. A rundown shed stood all alone in the middle of what was once a prosperous cattle ranch. No doubt Sheriff Daniels found his destination.
Exiting his vehicle on a skinny dirt path, Sheriff Daniels made his way through a corridor of thick Bermuda between deep tire ruts. He checked the bullet load in his service revolver. Several times the weapon saved his life. He held no qualms about using the gun again. Was he walking into one of Bee-Bo's famous traps? He did not know.
As Sheriff Daniels came into view of the shed an uneasy feeling overtook him. He held his weapon loosely at his side. He could feel its handle in his hand. He walked forward on the worn dirt trail leading through the tall grass. He preferred to take The Clown alive without any gun play involved if he could. However, when it came down to it, that really did not matter.
Sheriff Daniels knew Cody was there.
| Author Notes |
Sheriff Daniels locates the kidnapped Cody.
Can he rescue the boy and bring Bee-Do to justice? This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
NOTE: Here is the missing chapter that ends my book Missing and leads into my third Cody Schroder book Calling Card.
I can now release it to Cody's many fans and readers, when I could not before because it was a contest entry.
Enjoy!
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Sheriff Daniels approached the shed. He smelled a strong aroma of gasoline and saw the saturated walls. Off in the distance Bee-Bo stood with a bow and arrow in his hand. A gasoline-soaked rag was affixed to the tip of the arrow.
"That's far enough Brock!" Bee-Bo warned the Sheriff, "You go no further!"
Sheriff Daniels stopped in his tracks.
"Listen close to me Brock," Bee-Bo began, "Cody's tied to a chair in the shed."
The Clown's comment grabbed the Sheriff's undivided attention. Pointing his weapon at Bee-Bo, Sheriff Daniels instructed The Clown, "Let him go Bee-Bo! This does not involve Cody."
Bee-Bo replied, "No can do Brock. I used Cody as a pawn to lure you here because I knew you would come no matter what."
Then he asked the Sheriff, "You still don't get it do you Brock? This has never been about all the boys I've sold to the highest bidder over the years. Or about all the people I've turned into mulch in my trusty wood chipper."
"Then tell me what it has been about Bee-Bo?" Sheriff Daniels demanded.
"All these years Brock, ever since we were little kids in Portland, it's always been about you and me and who was better at their craft," Bee-Bo laughed. "And I win! I have what you treasure the most. I have Cody!"
Bee-Bo continued speaking, "Now I hold all the cards Brock. So, here is how the final show down scene is going to play out."
Sheriff Daniels intently listened to what The Clown said.
The Clown told the Sheriff, "You drop your gun and go back to your car. I ride off into the sunset. And Cody lives to see another day. Plain and simple Brock."
Igniting the rag on the end of the arrow Bee-Bo threatened, "Or I roast Cody in Hell! You know I'll do it too Brock! Cody means less than nothing to me!"
Before Sheriff Daniels could react Bee-Bo let the arrow fly. It soared through the air and found its target, quickly penetrating the brittle wall of the shed. The shed burst into flames. Bee-Bo raced to the motorcycle he stashed away earlier that morning, hopped on, and fired it up.
Sheriff Daniels faced the toughest decision of his life. Did he rescue Cody and allow Bee-Bo to escape knowing The Clown's bloody rampage would continue and other innocent lives would be snuffed out? Or did he capture Bee-Bo and allow Cody to agonizingly burn to death? The decision was his alone to make. He saw a coffin in his immediate future. But who's?
| Author Notes |
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Sheriff Daniels house was neat, orderly and clean. Beth's womanly touches could be found throughout the warm structure. Especially in her newly planted rose garden that ran along the far outside wall. They could also be seen in the precise manner in which she carefully folded their laundry.
Approaching the house the first thing Bee-Bo noticed was a Superman kite angling from the top branches of a tree. The massive Savannah adorned the well manicured, freshly mowed front lawn of the home. With one look The Clown knew who the kite belonged to. He almost shimmied up the tree to retrieve the toy.
But, because it wasn't The Joker, he left the kite where it was. Perhaps its owner would soon join the discarded contraption? Especially if Bee-Bo had anything to say about the situation!
The Clown made his way to the basement door just off the kitchen. So far he remained unnoticed. In seconds Bee-Bo popped open the door. He was inside the Sheriff's house.
A thousand words could be written about how Bee-Bo felt being in Sheriff Daniels basement. The Clown fought to control the onslaught of emotions overpowering him and drawing him closer to his doomed target.
Controlling his breathing, and his heartbeat. Bee-Bo focused on his mental image of Brock Daniels. In Bee-Bo's warped mind it was the Sheriff who was to blame for all the evil The Clown had ever performed. The fury deep inside Bee-Bo was dangerous! That's why Bee-Bo knew he must destroy his enemy!
In one corner of the basement stood Brock Daniels woodworking station complete with miter saw for the finest cuts of wood, downdraft table, work station, and tool rack.
Another corner housed a felt-covered pool table. Cody was becoming a regular hustler with billiard balls all lined up in a row. He often beat the Sheriff in their little one-on-one encounters. Winning fifty cents a game.
"Hey, it all adds up to more spending money for me," Cody boasted every time the Sheriff coughed up the cash after a game ending in the boy's favor.
Besides, it was a fun opportunity for them to enjoy time together. What Cody did not realize was most often Sheriff Daniels allowed him to win. It helped keep the boy interested in the game and was a good way to keep him occupied.
Excitement flushed over Bee-Bo. His diabolical plan was unfolding much easier than he planned. There were no windows in the basement, but Sheriff Daniels prized gun collection hung on a nearby paneled wall.
Bee-Bo wanted no part of the weapons. Not the Sheriff's valued Heckler and Koch MP5 rifle, that is so popular in most law enforcement agencies, or the Sheriff's Uzi. The Clown even left the Remington pump-action shotgun alone on the hooks where it displayed. If the weapons were blades they would have drawn Bee-Bo's keen interest.
"It must be wash day," The Clown thought to himself.
Bee-Bo picked up the top item on the stack of clothes in the wicker laundry basket Beth left sitting on top of the washing machine. The Clown softly rubbed them all over his face, then gently fondled and sniffed Cody's snow-white Fruit of the Looms. Fixated, Bee-Bo attempted to inhale Cody's very essence.
Beth had asked Cody to carry his clothes upstairs, and put them away where they belonged, before he went over to play with his best friend. Matt Cochran lived two houses down the street from where they resided.
But, typical of the bundle of energy that was Cody, he forgot. He would get a not-so-gentle reminder from Beth when he came back home. Perhaps a properly boxed ear would help him remember to do his chores better!
"1313 Maid Marion Lane," Bee-Bo reminded himself. That was the address of the Daniels residence.
The Clown liked peculiar notions such as the uniqueness of the address. They reminded Bee-Bo of himself. Odd was the normal for him. It warmed his cold heart. Perhaps that was one of the reasons he'd once been a very funny clown. Now he found pleasure in a much different way. As people who crossed him soon found out. And Brock Daniels topped that list!
He may have rescued Cody from the burning abandoned shed. But, Bee-Bo decided Daniels got lucky. That's all!
(NOTE: Many of you may not have read this part yet. But, at the moment please do not ask me about this. You will get the opportunity to read this chapter as well. But according to site policies I can not say anything more about that right now. So, please do continue enjoying the rest of this chapter of my new book.)
However, The Clown wasn't finished with Brock Daniels, Beth Sorenson, or especially Cody Schroder. That was why he came to their house that day. He wanted Daniels to know he was close by. And his visit was no social call.
"If only I could reach up under Cody's third rib, and show Brock Daniels his heart before the boy died, my fun in this one horse-town would be complete!" Bee-Bo contemplated to himself.
The Clown desperately wanted to destroy Brock Daniels and everything he held dear. That lofty intention was his lone desire. The coup de gras would be shredding Cody Schroder into teeny-weeny particles of sawdust and blowing him away like a leaf in a gale! Bee-Bo knew he must control his excitement. The thrill of the chase was overwhelming.
It was going to happen again. The infamous cold-blooded mass murderer, and kidnapper of young boys, was about to strike with a vengeance he knew would blow everybody's mind. Bee-Bo the Clown was going to make national headlines again in his own special little way! With a sigh, he folded his hands in front of him and slowly trekked up the stairs leading to the main living area in the Sheriff's home.
Bee-Bo decided he was hungry and a cold brew would taste good too. He remembered how much Brock Daniels always enjoyed an iced down can of Coors. "Colorado Kool-Aid" as they called the beverage when they were young boys in Portland. Especially at the forbidden parties they crashed looking for girls they pursued.
Slowly Bee-Bo extracted his favorite box cutter. This was going to be the most fun The Clown could have in his old lady costume. The same one he'd worn visiting Cody Schroder's hospital room shortly after arriving in Astatula. Who would ever suspect a little old, grey-haired lady of breaking into such a wellknown home?
"Ready or not," Bee-Bo laughed to himself, "here comes grandma!"
| Author Notes |
chiringa - Spanish word for kite.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
Bee-Bo was now in the main living area of the Sheriff's home. Obsessed with the names of his victims over the years, The Clown could recite the list forwards and backwards. He carefully selected them all, working his way through the alphabet.
The first was Eric Antoinette, an insignificant Publix grocery store clerk. Nathan Bradshaw and Jeremiah Collins soon followed. Life's losers! All of them! As far as Bee-Bo was concerned.
The Clown could not stand weakness in people and preyed on it. His last victim, Doctor Robert Patterson, who failed to keep Cody Schroder comatose until Bee-Bo's arrival at the hospital, was nothing more than a throw-in to eliminate a problem and because of what Bee-Bo saw as his betrayal.
Terrence Rogers was where Bee-Bo left off on his Hit list. That brought him to the letter "S". And The Clown knew what that meant. Fun time in the Cody Corral!
Bee-Bo opened the refrigerator door. He popped the top on a Coors he removed off the second shelf of the Amana. Slamming it back, he crumpled the can and tossed the empty aluminum container into the sink.
"Bulls-eye!" he exclaimed doing so.
The Clown belched pleasurably then downed another brew. With no one home, Bee-Bo decided his invasion of the Sheriff's house would be a merry little adventure all his own.
With Bee-Bo everything held a purpose. Of all the insane takers of life Sheriff Daniels ever encountered in his illustrious law enforcement career none were half as brazen and bold as The Clown. Bee-Bo was also the most whacked-out and simple-minded.
Fueled by anger, the Clown's powerful imagination, and acted upon fantasies, were the scariest! Something notorious monsters such as Freddie Krueger, Jason Vorhees, Michael Myers, and even Chuckie Doll would be very proud of.
Bee-Bo's stripes had been well earned. The notorious maximum security Rock Way Prison could not hold him. None could. The Clown surveyed the environment of the Sheriff's home. He was tempted to start his rampage with the 42-inch color television. But passed on it, for the moment.
Taking notice of the living room, Bee-Bo located a Norman Rockwell painting commonly known as "The Freedom From Want." Most often considered his Thanksgiving masterpiece. One fell swoop with The Clown's patented box cutter and the painting's value plummeted to nada.
Pleased with his accomplishment, The Clown laughed out loud. But he did not stop there. The ottoman, sofa, and three easy chairs were his next targets. That led Bee-Bo to the circular stairway leading up to the bedrooms, he supposed. One in particular he intended to invade.
Making his way down the mirrored hall, The Clown located Cody's bedroom. It was there he turned the brass doorknob on the door, and the door swung open. Taking inventory of the possibilities the room presented, Bee-Bo noticed the full-length posters Cody plastered on the walls.
Prominently displayed was Star Trek III with its sentimental images of Spock and Captain Kirk. They would suffer the fate of The Clown's box cutter! Then the needs of the one would outweigh the needs of the many.
Those slices well placed, Bee-Bo found Cody's favorite toys, his little green Army men. They were neatly arranged on the top of the mahogany dresser standing in the far corner of the room like a sentry on guard. Cody constantly played all sorts of war games with his little green Army men.
The Clown was bent on destroying each and every one of them. In Cody's world his little green Army men never lost a battle. Now they would be annihilated. One at a time!
The little green Army men were the first toys Sheriff Daniels gave Cody when the boy came to live with him. That made them even more special to Cody. They were also the first toys Cody could ever call his very own.
For the first ten years of Cody's life in Palo Pinto, Earl Anthony Schroder absolutely forbid the boy to possess anything of his own. Let alone play with any toys. Every time Cody was caught breaking this rule he suffered a sound beating for the infraction.
Bee-Bo laughed heartily as he sliced each and every little green Army man Cody treasured into small pieces. Invading the Sheriff's home was bad enough. Crushing a young boy for no valid reason was unforgivable! Bee-Bo was delighted in his handiwork.
His calling card completed, The Clown departed the residence. How he would have loved to have been a fly on the wall when Sheriff Daniels, Beth Sorenson, and Cody Schroder arrived back home! He could only imagine the shocked expressions they would have. Bee-Bo felt his ice cold heart melting.
He was only getting warmed up!
| Author Notes |
Bee-Bo's box cutter causes extensive damage inside Sheriff Daniels home.
This is Evan, by Lilibug6, selected to compliment my story. So, thanks Lilibug6, for the use of your picture. It goes so nicely with my little story. |
By Brett Matthew West
It wasn't my first choice for how to wake up.
By all I held vile, I vowed it would be Diane's last. A mere pawn in their grasp, the fifty-two cards, with their four suits and thirteen ranks, dictated that decision.
I suspected Diane had been cheating on me for at least the last two weeks. I remembered the good times when we were high on that mountain of love. Passion overcame us and we about drowned in euphoria. Now, none of that remained. How could the fervent feeling so longed for exist? We hardly tolerated the sight of one another, and we had not connected the essence of our beings in an eternity.
Stumbling into the house that night I clutched my shoes in my hand. I arrived long after Diane had passed out on the big four-poster bed she swore kept the warmth in the room on cold winter nights. Should my arms not have soothed her desires? I noticed my portrait, hand-painted by her favorite local artist, some unknown schmuck named Emerson Townsend, turned face to the wall. Peculiar as that seemed, it was all the proof my suspicious nature needed to be confirmed.
Full of malice and petty ways, her spiteful act convinced me Diane possessed nothing left to remind her condescending self of what we once shared. All resilency cast downward under the burden of the heavy weight, my spirits sagged. Out of the kindness of my broken heart, I allowed my wife one last good night's slumber, neither lethargic nor slothful. I knew the peace was a pleasure she would soon no longer experience.
Unstable at best, and full of difficulties, our marriage had been rocky from the start. Perhaps stars got in my eyes, yet I remained idealistic and optimistic we could make our relationship much better. The way the bonds of matrimony should be.
The cards that ruled our house did not approve of Diane, or her unamenable ways, that left her unresponsive to gentle persuasions. They tried to tell me doom resounded. Obstinate as I can be, and adhering to my own opinions, like a fool I would not listen to what they said. That included the last two years of pure misery. By far, they had been the worst. I should have learned the cards never lied.
Surrounded by the utter blackness of the room, and hard to see through its murky gloom, I lit six miniature candles. These I placed in a circle on the top of the red cedar table. They sat sort of like they had been props in a seance in one of those old black and white movies shown on the television late in the wee hours of the morn. My preferred fright night being The Amityville Horror.
Shot after shot, I downed a fifth of courage contained in a Jack Daniels whiskey bottle.
As Jack himself once proclaimed, "A square bottle for a square shooter."
I consumed every drop available to me. That accomplished, I peeled the black label off one teeny piece at a time and counted the memories of a love lost. I felt Diane had ripped away the parts of my ticker in much the same indistinguishable fashion.
Languid, with a disinterest in exertion, I flipped the cards in my hand face up one at a time. The numbers printed on each of them turned to crisp, clear, writing. Distinct, they assured me of the answers to all my questions: who, what, where, when, and why. The whole story unfolded right there in front of my own two eyes. A new piece of information supplied with each card turned up.
The ringing inside my cranium steadily crescendoed louder and louder and louder! My brain felt like the medulla oblongata smashed into the interior of my vertex. Its pinnacle throbbed. No outside source created the sound nor did I know where it came from.
Conflicted, I shrieked vociferously, "Somebody make this terror stop!"
Alone in the silence nobody responded. I swallowed another round of cool liquid for bravery's sake. An unexpected breeze made the flames on the candles flicker, but they did not go out. Now laid on the table, the upturned cards gyrated in quick circles as the urge to kill magnified in significance.
I made my way to the dusty mirror that hung on the far wall of the cubicle I was enclosed inside of. A thrown whiskey glass from a previous engagement had created a crack that ran diagonally through the glass in the speculum. Though hard to shape, the mirror's metal frame was made of the same type of material that constructed the Levithan Parsonstown telescope used to view star nebulas.
Soon, the metamorphosis would transpire and I would be well past the crossroads of the decisive moment. Under the control of the cards, the first change I noticed was the thick and wide, coarse hair on my face flushed out and two enamel fangs elongated.
Mortified, I turned from the sight, then forced myself to look back at my reflection. I observed myself changing back to my human condition, clean-shaven and chisel-chinned. One final glance in the glass and I allowed the cards to have their way.
The moon shone bright above. Before I attacked my prey, I let go a blood-curdling howl and climbed the stairs that led to what would soon become a crimson slaughterhouse.
As I approached, I called, "Oh, Diane. Ready or not love of my life, here I come!"
No, it wasn't my first choice for how to wake up. By all I held vile, I vowed it would be Diane's last.
| Author Notes | Capricious Lady, by cleo85, selected to complement my story. |
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