Thursday, Nov 4, 2021

          At 6:00 am, Chuck “Fitzy” Fitzgerald stood outside the radio station in downtown, Little River, a quaint, picturesque town, which was slowly growing into a retirement destination. The radio station was located across the street from Fitzy’s general store, Fitzy’s Findings.  At Fitzy’s, there was always something for everyone.

          Chuck, known as the last of the real Christians by many of his customers, was a kindhearted soul who loved to give back to the community whenever possible.  Chuck and his wife, Emily would be celebrating their 40th anniversary in July.  The two had been childhood sweethearts, marrying six months after graduating high school.

          A family soon followed, two sons and a daughter.  Nelson would soon turn twenty, Ben was eighteen and Alexandra was turning sweet sixteen in two weeks.

Chuck joined his father Charles in the family business, Fitzgerald Furniture and more, which eventually evolved in Fitzy’s Findings.  Emily worked part time at the local bakery while raising two sons and a daughter.

          The Delightful Bakery as it was known, survived some rough years, but it had closed for good, two years ago.  Emily now provided a limited selection of Delightful’s offerings from the family home, specialty orders and seasonal goodies.

          Chuck was troubled by a reoccurring dream that started two weeks earlier.  In the dream, Chuck was named the sole beneficiary in the will of Henry Vanacker, a long-time customer of the store.  Henry had joked with Chuck on several occasions about leaving him his estate, on account of his giving nature.  Chuck never thought he intended to do it. In the dream, Chuck stood to inherit several million dollars, unfortunately before he could claim the money, Chuck had a horrific accident two days after receiving word of the will.  The dream was always horrific, the cause, always different, but the one constant.

          This morning marked the start of day two since he had received the registered letter.  He had kissed Emily softly before leaving the house, leaving the will on the dining room table along with a letter, explaining the situation as best he could.

Emily,

You have been the love of my life and the reason I enjoy getting up every morning.  For whatever reason, I have been experiencing a reoccurring dream where I receive money from an unusual source.  That money arrived two days ago.  My dream varied each night, but the one constant was that I suffer horribly two days after receiving the money.  I am not going to lie.  I am worried.  If something happens to me, do not be angry with me for not telling you.  I did not want you to worry.  I hope the dreams are just a coincidence.

Thank you for the best years of my life.  You have been an amazing mother, wife, daughter, and best friend.  I hope I am just being a silly old man.

Love always,

Fitzy

Chuck knocked on the door of the radio station.  Jerry, the morning host, held up a finger, indicating he would be right there.  Jerry Strayhand began working for the radio station thirteen years earlier in advertising, working his way up to the head of sales before expressing an interest in the broadcasting part of the business.  Special event spots and commercials led to news stories and occasional stints in the fishbowl, covering holidays for the morning and afternoon hosts.  Two years ago, the radio station expanded its reach, opening a sister station in the town of Beachside.  One of the morning hosts jumped at a chance to host a radio show in a larger venue, opening a spot for Jerry, who was ecstatic for the opportunity.  The rest, as they say is history.

Jerry opened the door for Chuck, offering him a coffee.

“Fitzy, good morning, you old bugger.”

“Morning Jer.  I know you are busy, but I need a favor.”

“Sure thing.  Name it.”

Chuck handed Jerry an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“Instructions in the event that something happens to me.”  Jerry laughed.

“Nothing is going to happen to you.  You’re the closest thing to a saint this town could ever hope for.”

“Thank you for that, Jer.  I cannot explain things right now, and I hope you and I will share a good laugh about this tomorrow, but if something happens, the letter I have given you explains everything.”  Chuck extended his hand to Jerry.

“Thank you for being a good friend to my wife and I, Jerry.”  Chuck patted Jerry’s shoulder awkwardly.  “Ok, gotta run.”  Chuck left a dumbfound Jerry standing at the front door.

The news that evening initially called it a gas leak.  The explosion was heard three miles away, shattering windows at the radio station and seven store fronts nearby.  Chuck received one hundred and twenty-five stitches, forty-two staples, a broken arm, and third degree burns over twenty-five percent of his body.  Doctors managed to stabilize Chuck before ordering an airlift to the nearby trauma center.  This is where our story begins…

Lucious McCrae, Devon Blackbird, Colin Kelly, Ronnie McCallum, and Derek Dilworth watched the store for weeks, gathering intel for their planned heist.  Lucious was the leader of this band of misfits, only recruiting the nastiest, and or, best of the town’s criminal element.  Devon Blackbird served six months in county for a B and E, only second to Lucious in time served, who did a two year stretch upstate for manslaughter.  Colin Kelly was the group’s thug.  Fighting was what he did best, and he did it often.  Ronnie McCallum was a fire bug, known in the dark circles as Righteous Ron.  Ron believed that fire purified everything, including dilapidated buildings with solid insurance policies.  Derek Dilworth, better known as Dilly or Dildo, was the groups only nerd.  Dilly was the oddball of the group.  Put him beside a female of any size or shape and he would freeze but put him in front of a computer and he would work magic.  Hacking and cracking were his thing.

  Dilly had hacked into the security system, and they knew that old man Fitzgerald did not believe in night deposits.  They also knew that he skipped trips to the bank on Saturday, Sunday, and Monday, putting everything into the bank on Tuesdays.  The gang also discovered that old man Fitzgerald always arrived early on Tuesday mornings to put the deposit together, making it the ideal time to rob the place.  Fortunately, the surveillance system used by Fitzgerald contained audio, making it easy to copy the front door security code.

On Tuesday, November 5, the gang, led by Lucious met behind the store.  On orders by Lucious, Colin would gain access to the front door, shut off the alarm and let everyone in the back door.  They would proceed to the office, jimmy the door, and gather any cash.  From what the office camera showed, the Tuesday morning deposits could be a significant amount of money.

Colin gained entry quickly and quietly, disarming the alarm and opening the back door for his friends.  The gang made their way quickly to office, which was unlocked.  They moved inside the office, lowering the blinds so they could turn on the flashlight Ronnie had brought.  While Ronnie held the flashlight, Derek opened the drawer, grabbing the pile of cash that sat atop a small pile of receipts.  Flipping through the bills, Derek guessed there was at least $5,000.00. 

As the moved to leave the office, the main lights to the store came on.  Ronnie doused the light, and everyone froze.

“Shit,” whispered Lucious.  “The old man must have come in earlier than normal.”

“I know someone is here,” shouted Chuck.  “You forgot to reactivate the alarm.  Come out now, and I will not call the police.”

“Put the money back,” said Devon.  “We have not stolen anything, yet.  We can say the door was unlocked so we just walked in.”

“I can hear you whispering,” said Chuck.  “Come out of my office and I suggest you leave the money right where it is.”

“Fuck, he knows,” said Derek.”

Lucious took a deep breath.  “Follow my lead and we will get out of this.”

Lucious led the way out of the office.  Chuck stood near the entrance to the store.

“Good morning, Mr. Fitzgerald.  Sorry sir.  The front door was open, and we were just messing around.  No harm done.”

“Lucious McCrae, Little River’s number one troublemaker.  It is no accident that you are in my store.  I was across the street when, Mr. Kelly here, opened my door using a code, I assume Mr. Dilworth obtained, through his legendary hacking skills.”

Lucious advanced toward Chuck.  Chuck fumbled for his phone.

“9-1-1 should have the police here shortly,” he managed before Lucious struck him in the face.  The phone flew across the room and Chuck dropped to the ground in a stupor.”

“Christ Lucious, now you’ve done it,” hollered Dilly.

“Oh, shut the fuck up, Dilly,” shouted Colin, “Or I’ll shut you up.”

“What’s the plan, Lucious,” asked Devon.

Lucious struck Chuck a second time, knocking him unconscious.

“Devon, kill the lights.  Dilly, lock the front door.  Colin, help me drag the old fucker out back.  Ronnie, grab the cash from the office.”

“You’re not still doing this, are you,” asked Dilly.

“That and more, now move, Dilly.”

Once Colin and Lucious had Chuck in the back room, Lucious secured a pipe wrench from Chuck’s toolbox.

“I’m having one of those epiphanies,” laughed Lucious.  “Find the inside gas feed and loosen the pipe until it starts to leak, nothing more, and be careful, not to leave teeth marks from the wrench.”

“Roger that,” said Colin.

“Dilly,” shouted Lucious, “Bring me the old man’s phone.”

“Ronnie, you and Devon, wipe down the office and doors and get ready to make haste out the back.”

Dilly brought Lucious the phone.  As Lucious had suspected, the old man did not have password protection on his phone.  Lucious scrolled through his messages until he found a thread to his wife, Emily.  He typed, ‘I smell gas.  I’ll call 9-1-1 and then I am getting out of here.’

Lucious handed Dilly the phone.  The last thing you do before we leave is hit send and set the phone down on top of the old man.  Got it??”

“Yeah, I got it,” said Dilly, trying to sound defiant.

Everyone but Colin gathered around Lucious.  What’s the plan?

“Put the old man in his office chair, set the phone on his lap, and we get the hell out of here, through the back door.”  Once everything was in place and Colin had the pipe leaking a steady stream of gas, Lucious, using his shirt, turned on a burner on the staff stove, which was near the leaking pipe.

“Run, now,” he shouted, and they all made for the back door.  They were about two blocks away when the building blew.

 

Chuck Fitzgerald should have died that day.  He certainly should have died in the days that followed, yet his body refused to succumb to death.  For 39 days, Chuck remained in a deep coma.  The doctors rate his coma as a three on the Glasgow coma scale, the lowest possible score, meaning he eyes remained closed, he made no noise, and he showed no sign of motor response.  After a week, the medical staff informed Emily that his chances of recovery were slim.

Most people in a coma have no recollection whatsoever.  This was not the case with Chuck.  As the doctors worked diligently to save Chuck’s life, his spirit floated above the emergency room, watching the events unfold.  He found he was able to move around the room, working his way outside of the hospital.  He needed to get to Emily and tell her he was okay.  As he was leaving the area of the parking lot, he noticed Emily’s car parked near the entrance.  Chuck returned to the hospital, searching the lobby, then the quiet room, finding Emily praying near the alter, surrounded by her children.

“Emily, I’m okay,” he said quietly.  Emily continued to pray, unaware of Chuck’s presence.

“Emily,” he shouted.  “I’m right here.”  Emily paused her prayer, looking upward.  Chuck was certain she had heard him.

“Please God, look after my Chuck.  He is a good man and has been a loyal servant.”

Chuck felt himself being pulled away from his family.  He fought to stay where he was, but the force was too strong.  Suddenly, he was moving at a high rate of speed, everything turned darker as he flew.  Chuck felt himself losing consciousness.

Chuck regained consciousness on a dark, moonless street, surrounded by dilapidated buildings.  The lawns were black and burnt, as were the trees and bushes.  A bearded man in a dark robe approached Chuck.

“Greetings, Chuck Fitzgerald.  Welcome to my realm.”

“Greetings,” replied Chuck.  “Your realm?  Where am I, and who are you, sir?”

“Sir,” laughed the stranger. “Always polite, eh, Chuck?  I am Gamigin, lord of this dark, desolate realm, one of many realms that separate the living from the dead.”

“So, I’m not dead?”

“Not yet, but it doesn’t look so good for you.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

“I can show you, but everything I do for you has a price, Chuck.  You need to remember that.”

“A price?  I’m not sure what you mean.”

“A favor for a favor, if you get my meaning.”

“I am a god-fearing man and will not jeopardize my relationship with God, so if it is my soul you seek, just let me die and be done with it.”

Gamigin reared his head back with laughter.  “You are a funny man, Chuck.  I am not the devil, and every man should fear God, although he is not what you think he is.  I do not want your soul, but our relationship must be a give and take.  I can show you what happened, I can help heal you, and I can get you back to your family.  All would be considered minor miracles on Earth, but you have lived a good life, and you deserve to return home.”

“Why should I trust you.  I mean look around.  If I am not in hell, why does it feel like it is.”

With a wave of his arms, the desolate landscape was replaced with beautiful houses, sitting on lush green lawns, surrounded by beautiful gardens.

“My realm feeds on my energies.  A desolate, colorless landscape requires little energy to maintain.”

“I see.  You say this is your realm.  Why are you here?  What is your purpose?  Are you here as punishment?”

“Chuck, you are not a very trusting soul.  My purpose is to help those sent to me, and before you ask who sent you to me, that would be this God you speak of.”

“Why would God send me here?”

“To test your faith.”

“My faith remains strong.  Whatever the reason for my accident, God has a plan.”

“Oh, he has a plan all right, but enough about that.  Do you wish to return to your family, and would you like to know what happened to you?”

“Yes, to both questions.”

With a wave of his right hand, an image appeared before Chuck of the store, the morning of the incident.  Chuck watched as Lucious attacked him, dragging him to the back.  He watched as they placed him in his office chair while loosening a gas pipe.  He watched in terror as the building blew up.  Fast forward to the first responders and their efforts to reach Chuck, images of Emily breaking down as she received the news, images of onlookers in shock.

“Those hooligans,” whispered Chuck.

“Language, Chuck,” snickered Gamigin. “In order to get you back to your family, we must strengthen your soul for the journey back into your body.  My purpose here is to determine the strength of a soul.  If I deem it strong enough, I will help it return to its body.  If the soul is weak, it must be escorted to the land of the dead.

“I assume you deem my soul strong enough.”

“Your soul is strong.  Of that, I have no doubt.  The road ahead is difficult, and my patience thin.  I will teach you; you will learn.  In the end, you will return home.  Time here is different from time on Earth but as you adjust to this realm, I will say, we begin tomorrow.  You are free to wander this realm, but be forewarned, there are dangers that can send you to the realm of the dead.”

“I think I will just stay right here.”

“Suit yourself.”  With a nod, Gamigin was gone.