Youth

SUNDOWN IN ZION

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Our hero discovers some things.          

  “So what’s on your agenda today?” Nelson asked as Charlie began clearing the breakfast dishes.

            With an exaggerated gesture, Charlie looked at watch on his wrist. “Oh,” he said, “I think I’ll continue my morning walks. I’ve been including some stretching exercises.”

            “That’s good.” Nelson nodded toward the watch, “New?”

            “You always begrudge me nice things,” Charlie said in a mock falsetto. He laughed. “But yes, bought it yesterday. It’s strange to be living in a time-centered paradigm again.”

            “So you have appointments now?”

            Charlie turned quickly. “What makes you think that?”

            “Man buys a watch, man assumes responsibilities,” Nelson said with a laugh.

            “Just want to document your nocturnal escapades,” Charlie said. Then, resetting the conversation’s coordinates, added, “What’s your day look like?”

            “Believe it or not, I’m going to pay young Martin Barker a call on his home turf.”

            “You’re driving to Hot Springs?”

            “Precisely. Want to come along?”

            Although he tried to hide it, Charlie took an almost imperceptible glance at his watch. “No,” he said. “I may do some more shopping.  And, it’s about time I paid for some groceries.”

            “Suit yourself,” Nelson said. “I’m sure you have some catching up to do with spending money.”

            “You have no idea.”

            With that, Nelson headed for his bedroom and then to the shower. When he had dressed and walked into the kitchen, Charlie was gone. Nelson went to the front door and looked out. Charlie’s car was still parked in front of the house. Nelson shrugged and turned for a final cup of coffee.

            Later he eased his truck onto Interstate 30 and began driving south. His route took him past an area of wetland and then into a corridor mixed with industrial and large-scale commercial operations. Farther on, the landscape turned into a wilderness of fast-food outlets, strip-malls, and gaudy shopping centers. It was a panorama indistinguishable from thousands of settlements spread along the freeways of America. There was nothing unique that might add a touch of local identity to the scene, nothing to suggest that human hands had added a personal signature to any building. Nelson ignored the entreaties to stop and spend, concentrating instead on the thinning traffic.

            Soon, he descended into a scarred area of graveled swamps and crossed a small river. The land rose immediately and he approached the turn that would lead him to Hot Springs. The scenery turned pastoral, the highway framed by evergreens sprinkled with hardwoods beginning to flaunt small buds that promised the coming spring. Soon, the area became hilly and the road curved to accommodate the geology. Nelson slowed as if to enjoy the ambiance and soon covered the distance remaining into the city.

            The central business district in Hot Springs was in magical contrast to the commercial corridors of Interstate 30. Here, magnificent buildings, some of them lovingly restored, lined streets festooned with greenery and evoking times long past. Traffic inched along Central Avenue so Nelson was able to study the grandeur that cities could be. A Magnolia-lined section of the street graced a row of beautiful buildings that once served as bathhouses. A grand, vacant building perched atop an adjacent hill, keeping watch on the scenes below. At the end of Central Avenue, a fountain allowed Nelson to navigate to his left and he saw the Arkansas School of Math, Sciences, and the Arts. The facility was located in what had once been a large hospital and stood like a castle, in this case a castle armed with young scholars protecting the helpless with knowledge and understanding instead of arms.

            He eased onto Whittington Avenue and proceeded past the school campus. Whittington soon divided into a couplet surrounding a slender park. Nelson followed for a short distance, then parked his truck and waited. He punched numbers into his cell phone and listened. In a moment he spoke into it, “Here at the appointed spot.” After a pause, he said, “Right.”

            Before he could place his phone into his pocket, it buzzed, announcing a text message. He looked at the tiny screen. A short message read, “Not tonight. Ghosts.”

            Nelson stared at the screen, then typed, “Ghosts?”

            Directly the screen lit with the message, “Ghosts of passions past. Don’t ask.”        

            He nodded and typed, “Be safe.”

            A final text read, “The safe shall inherit the sanctuaries of the sane and somnolent.”

            Nelson placed the phone in his pocket and opened his truck door. He stepped outside and walked across the street to a bench facing the street and sat. He examined his surroundings, nodded and waited. Ten minutes later, he saw Martin Barker and a stout, middle-aged woman walking from the direction of the school campus. Martin was dressed in casual school attire, carried a small briefcase, and evidently enjoyed the company of his companion. They alternated between serious conversation and shared jokes until they reached Nelson. He stood. “Hello Martin.”

            “Mr. uh, Gideon, meet Dr. Doris Bethune, my advisor. Seeing confusion in Nelson’s face, he added, “We must leave the campus in groups of at least two.” When Nelson continued to look without speaking, Marin said, “I really didn’t want to bring another student, so we signed out to take the air along Whittington and discuss an upcoming chemistry project.”

            I’m pleased to meet you, Dr.,” he said extending his hand.

            “Likewise,” the other said. When Nelson said nothing, she said, “I was Abbey Stubblefield’s advisor too.” Then she winked at Nelson. “Martin has told be about you, and if you can catch the son of a bitch, or sons of bitches, that did that awful thing to her, you’ll be, as my students say, my best friend forever.” She smiled, “Or however it goes.”

            Martin and Nelson both laughed, and the three sat.

            Martin broke the silence. “So what are you finding out?”

            “Bits and pieces,” Nelson said. He smiled. “Do they teach you about ‘Black Holes’ here?”

            Dr. Bethune laughed. “Are you kidding? Some the students call our school ‘The Black Hole,’ in their more irreverent moments,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

            “The black hole in Armistead Country seems to be this mega-church in Connerville,” Nelson said. “Everything seems to be drawn into it and nothing can escape.”

            Martin leaned forward. “Including Abbey?”

            “I’m working on that,” Nelson said. “By the way, did you know I’m a deputy of the Armistead County Sheriff’s Department now?”

            “Oh yes,” Martin said, “Dad already told me.

            “Gossip Central is on the job,” I see,” Nelson said.

            “Don’t say anything in front of Mrs. Matterson, Sheriff Love’s receptionist, that you don’t want Dad to know,” Martin said. “She and Dad go way back.”

            “That’ good to know,” Nelson said. He turned to Dr. Bethune. “Can we talk freely and openly here?”

            “I’m on your side. Totally.” Dr. Bethune said, flashing a soothing smile.

            Martin said, “There’s some reason you’re here, isn’t there?”

            Nelson drew a breath. “I need a some straight answer,” he said.

            “About what?” Martin sounded defensive.

            “There are people,” Nelson said, “and I want to phrase this carefully, people who claim Abbey may have been mixed up with the wrong crowd.”

            Dr. Bethune stiffened. “And what crowd might be?

            “Please understand,” Nelson said, “I’m not saying this, but we need to resolve it and put any claims to rest.” He paused. “Some claim she may have been mixed up with gangs in Little Rock.”

            Martin and Dr. Bethune looked at on another, heads shaking. Then Dr. Bethune said, “And what evidence have they to support such an obnoxious thesis?”

            “Very little,” Nelson said. “There is the method of her murder but that doesn’t pass muster for me.”

            “Why not?” Martin said.

            “Timing, location, need for planning,” Nelson said. “It all sounds more like someone delivering a message more than a gangland murder, from what I know of gangs.”

            Martin stood, walked two steps, and turned. “Anything else?”

            “She seems,” Nelson said, “to have had a nickname that some find suspicious. Her parents know nothing about it.”

            Dr. Bethune spoke, “A nickname?”

            “A nickname,” Nelson said, “She was supposedly wearing it as a necklace when she was found.”

            Dr. Bethune flashed a brief but noticeable smile. “And that nickname was?”

            “Poison,” Nelson said. “seems she called herself Poison.”

            At this point, both Martin and Dr. Bethune broke into peals of laughter. Nelson looked on it confusion. As the laughter subsided, they looked at one another shaking their heads.

            Nelson was more confused than ever. He waited as the merriment continued, gradually becoming annoyed. They finally stopped.

            “The PE Club,” Dr. Bethune said. “That darned PE Club.”

            Martin looked at her, surprised. “How do you know about the PE Club?”

            “Martin,” Dr. Bethune said, “we know everything that happens on our campus. You students have been led to believe for your entire lives, that you are smarter than everyone else.
 She chuckled. “But believe me, you ain’t that damned smart.”

            Martin sighed. “Then you tell him.”

            Dr. Bethune turned to Nelson and smiled. “What do you know about the periodic table that forms the basis of modern chemistry?”

            “Very little,” Nelson said.

            “Then you may not know what element is characterized by the letters A and S.”

            “Afraid not,” Nelson said.

            “The element known as ‘AS’ is arsenic,” she said. “Ever heard of it?”

            “Poison,” he said. Understanding flowed over his face like sun lighting a hillside. “Abbey Stubblefield, … AS, …Poison.”

            “There’s a little secret club at our school,” Dr. Bethune said, “of course I know nothing about it you understand, but it comprises a small group of miscreant geniuses that is responsible for a great deal of good-natured mischief.” She looked at Martin. “It’s even rumored that it is the group that, from time to time, orders material from the Discovery Institute, that paragon of right-wing, science-denying bullshit, and has it sent to me.”

            Marin looked at his feet. Dr. Bethune looked at him and said, “Am I missing anything, Maghead?”

            Nelson again showed confusion. He looked at Martin. “Maghead?”

            “Magnesium,” Martin said. “Periodic table symbol ‘MG,’ an element used to make material that is light and tough.”

            “I’m a little familiar with it,” Nelson said, “It’s gotten me into and out of trouble a few times.” He thought for a moment. “But what does the ‘G’ stand for?”

            Martin balked. “Oh go ahead and tell him, “Dr. Bethune said, “or I will.”

            “Galloway,” Martin said, “but don’t ask me why.”

            “Why?” Nelson said, smiling.

            “Tell him,” Dr. Bethune said. “Remember the Discovery Institute.”

            “Have you ever heard that name before?” Martin said after a pause.

            “There’s a place east of Little Rock with that name,” Nelson said, “a place where truckers congregate.”

            Martin looked both ways and said, “That’s where I was born.”

            “There’s a hospital there?”

            “No,” Martin said, “but lucky for me there was an ambulance crew stopped there the day I was born.”

            “I’m confused,” Nelson said.

            “The story is that, when Mom called Dad and told him her time, my time, had come, he started home to get her but got distracted watching a truck that had caught fire and was burning on one of the farms.”

            “A truck burning?”

            “The sort of thing that passes for entertainment in Armistead County,” Martin said. “So Dad didn’t make it quite to Little Rock before I announced my arrival. Lucky for us, an ambulance crew was eating lunch at the truck stop.”

            “And …?”

            “And here I am. Mom was so mad after she found out the reason for the delay, so they say …” Martin shrugged, “that she listed my middle name as ‘Galloway’ so Dad would never forget it.”

            Nelson leaned back on the bench. “Poison and Maghead,” he said, shaking his head. “Then the part about being associated with a gang is true,” he laughed.

            “I gave Abby that necklace,” Martin said. “I’d like to have it back when they get through with it.”