A Collection of Poems and Short Stories

Switch: Part Three

2011-11-20T17:03:00.000-08:00

I step onto the front porch and swing the screen door open. No lights are on in the house except a dimly lit lantern on the kitchen table. "I'm right here if you need me," my dad whispers in my ear.

"Thanks, Pop." I walk into the residence; the musty smell that has accumulated over the years of the home being uninhabited hits my nostrils and I nearly gag. "Hello?" I call out. Something shuffles in the living room. "Maggie? Maggie, can you hear me?"

Maggie suddenly bursts forth from the shadows and clings to me. "Dad!" she begins to sob.

I sympathetically hush her. "It's okay, Maggie. I'm here now. Everything's going to be fine." As I attempt to soothe my daughter, my eyes fall upon a man standing in the living room. He's a small, lean fellow, but I can't make out any of his features. My blood begins to boil and I grip Maggie tighter. "What do you want from me?" I angrily spit at him. "I can't imagine you're just going to allow me to leave here with my daughter. What do you want?"

"I don't want anything from you," says the low, gravelly voice. "I only wanted him." He raises a revolver and quickly fires three rounds into the corner. I hear my father cry out in pain.

I rush to my dad's side. "What's wrong with you?!" I cry at the man in the shadows. "You're sick! First, you kidnap my daughter and now you've shot my father!" I feel the wounds in my father's chest; three hits, two around his heart. Any chance he had of surviving just went out the window. "Maggie, go call the cops." She nods and runs out the door.

"I didn't shoot you're father," the man says.

"What are you talking about?! You're even more disturbed than I thought!"

"That man is not your father."

"Don't listen to him, Paul," my dad wheezes.

"I'm not the one lying here, and he knows it. That man is not your father."

"And I suppose you're going to tell me that you are?" I sarcastically retort.

"Of course not. I'm your brother." He slides a vanilla envelope across the floor to where I'm kneeling. "If you don't believe me, the evidence is in there. Open it." I do so, and a document, some newspaper clippings, and a photograph fall out. The document is a birth certificate issued to a Jonathan Ray O'Connor, born the Fifteenth of February, 1962 in Larum, Oklahoma. That's my birthday. But I've never been to Oklahoma. A same birth date can be easily written off as a coincidence. I peruse the newspaper clippings. O'Connor Child Abducted; City-Wide Search for Suspected Kidnappers; Police Declare O'Connor Case Cold. There's a picture of an infant with the second story. I recognize it almost immediately. That same picture is in a scrapbook at my parents' house; it's from the day my they brought me home from the hospital. I'm not sure how coincidental that is. I now look at the single photograph. It's a digitally composed picture of myself, or someone who looks a lot like me.

"Where did you get this?" I ask as I hold up the image.

"Called in a favor down at the police department. Took one of the few pictures I had of you and a computer was able to determine what you would look like now." All this information is hitting me hard, and I don't know what to believe.

"Is this true, Pop?"

My dad gives a sigh. "Your mother and I wanted a child. She just had a miscarriage. We didn't know what to do. Martha was so desperate. We heard that our neighbors had a child. We had family up here in Michigan that would help us lay low, so we..."

"You have no idea how terrible it is to sit in the hallway every night and hear your mother cry over her lost child," the man interjects. "As I held her hand on her deathbed last year, I swore to her that I would right the wrong done to my father and her forty-two years ago. I've spent the past year tracking you down and now I've completed what I set out to do."

"Don't hold this against me, Paul," the man dying on the floor says. "Didn't we raise you right? I may not have been there in the hospital when you were born, but I'm still your father, aren't I?"

My head is swimming in a sea of confusion. My entire world is collapsing around me. "I don't know who you are. I don't even know who I am. My entire life has been a lie." My eyes now transfix on the man at my feet. "And it's all because of you."

The man closes his eyes. "Still doesn't mean I don't care about you." He heaves a sigh and breathes his last.

My brother walks over to me and puts his hand on my shoulder. "You can understand why I had to do this, can't you , Jonathon? Mom loved you so much. I couldn't let this go unpunished."

I rise and look my brother in the eyes. Our resemblance is uncanny. "How did she die? Our mom, how did she die?"

"Cancer. It's a shame you never met her. Not a day went by that she didn't say a prayer for you."

"What about Dad?"

"He died when I was about twenty. That would've have put you around sixteen. Accident at the steel mill where he worked. The greatest man I've ever known. You would've loved them both. They were so scared after you were abducted that they never tried to have any more children. It's just you and me now." The sound of sirens blare in the distance. "By the sound of things, it might just be you here shortly." My brother walks to the back of the house and stares out the door.

"What are you going to do now that you've accomplished what you set out for?" I ask.

"Go on the run. I just murdered a man, so the cops are gonna be on my tail." He walks out the exit and gets into his car.

"Come stay with me for a bit. I'll help you keep under the radar."

He smiles. "I can't do that to you. Your life was stolen from you, and I don't want to cause you to throw the rest of it away. What about Maggie? That part of your life isn't a lie. You have a daughter who loves you and needs you. I've got nothing. I'm happy I was just able to finally meet you."

"What's your name at least?" I plead.

"Paul. Ironic, isn't it?" We both chuckle. He closes the door, ignites the engine, and the car disappears from view.

I walk around the house and find Maggie curled up in the front seat of the car fast asleep, exhausted from the night's events. I get in and start driving away. We pass the cops a ways down the road. In a few minutes, they're going to find a farmhouse with a dead body in it. I assume that they're going to start searching for my brother, and, if they're any good, they'll catch him. The sad part is they would be catching the wrong man. The real enemy is dead, and I wouldn't have known that truth if it weren't for Paul. All these years, the two people I thought were my closest friends were enemies in disguise. Perhaps clichés are more applicable than I thought, although not in the way that it was originally meant. Keep your friends close...

THE END

Switch: Part Two

2011-11-17T15:04:00.000-08:00

As I'm driving down the highway, I desperately attempt to contact the one person I know I can trust with the situation. "Come on, Dad, pick up the phone..." All I get in response is Hi, you reached Walt. Leave a message and I'll get back to you. I curse, hang up, and try again.

Three rings and then, "Hey son, how's it going? It's been awhile since you've called."

"Things aren't so good, Pop." I take a deep breath to calm my shaking hands. "Someone has Maggie. They're holding her hostage somewhere. I'm not sure what they want. They specifically said they don't want cash, so I'm not sure what else they could want. I don't know what to do, Pop."

"Okay, settle down. Where are you right now?"

"I'm on my way to your and mom's house. Pulling off your exit right now."

"See you in a bit." I hang up the phone. If there is anyone I can trust, I know my father is a better candidate than any. He retired from the police department this past year and his life has been too quiet, as he would say. The best cop I have ever known wants to get back in the game and my daughter has been kidnapped. Perfect storm.

I pull into my parent's driveway and get out. I barge through the front door, much to the surprise of my meek mother. "Paul, what's going on? Is everything all right?" I brush right past her.

"Everything's fine, Mom. Where's Dad?"
"He's in the bedroom. He mentioned that Maggie was abducted. Are you sure everything is all right?" Her voice sounds almost as nervous as I'm sure mine does.

I turn and look at my mother. "If I know my father like I think I do, it will be shortly." I walk down the hall and turn into my parent's bedroom. There's my dad, loading up the magazine for his 9mm. "Dad, you can't bring that. They told me not to bring any weapons. I'm pushing the limits already by bringing an ex-cop into the picture."

"They may have told you not to bring a weapon, but they didn't tell me squat. Have you heard from them again?" Almost like my dad's words were a cue, my phone starts buzzing. Text message. 145 Main St., Montano, MI. No cops. No money. No weapons. Just you. You have until midnight. "That them?" my dad inquires.

"Yeah. Says to go to 145 Main Street, Montano, MI. Any idea where that is?"

"About fifteen minutes north of Cedar Springs. That makes it about a fifty-five minute drive from here. Did they give you a deadline?"

"Midnight. I still don't know what they want. They don't want cash and I don't really have anything to offer them. They said they just want me. Do you know why that would be?"

My father pauses as he puts his glock into its holster. "Wasn't a detective, son. Your guess is as good as mine." He grabs his jacket and walks through the door. "We're wasting time."

We walk through the kitchen and out the front door. My mother is screaming for us. "You be careful. I don't want to lose two men on the same night!"

"We'll be fine, Martha. Alert the police if we're not back by two," my father replies. We jump in the car and race down the street. We come to the northbound highway and I jam the pedal to the floor. The car creeps up to 50 mph. 70. 90. I'm swerving lane to lane, avoiding the other vehicles as best I can. The ride is silent except for my heavy breathing. I look at my father; his face is like stone, completely in a focused state. Fifty minutes later, we pull of the exit for Montano. We reach Main Street in a flash, given that my foot is still glued to the floor. The addresses grow larger until we reach 145. This house is eery. An abandoned looking farmhouse with a rundown barn in the back.

My father and I get out of the vehicle simultaneously. "Alright," he says, "be very careful. We know little about these guys. We don't know what they want. We don't know what they have in there. One slip could cost your daughter her life and you yours. Do you understand me?" I nervously nod my head. "I'll be waiting in the shadows in case anything goes wrong." He grabs his glock and racks a bullet into the chamber. "Let's go get your daughter."

Switch: Part One

2011-11-16T14:03:00.000-08:00

A wise man once said to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. When I first heard that, I thought it was so profound. If you asked me what I thought about it now, I might write it off as an old cliché that has little application to my day-to-day life. As far as I know, the only enemies I have ever made were customers whose coupons for 50% off a loaf of bread or some obscure item at the grocery store I work at expired. Chances are that I may run into that same customer down the line, but I barely know them. I hardly feel threatened by these enemies, if you can call them that. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. Just an old saying.

***

"Any big plans for the weekend, Laura?" I ask as I shuffle through some paperwork. I just hired Laura about a month ago, and so far she's been nothing but attitude that needed to be double-bagged. Somewhat reminds me of my own seventeen-year-old daughter, Maggie. Maybe that's why I hired her in the first place.

"Piss off," Laura retorts as she walks out of the break room.

"Nice talking with you, too." That's the thing about being a manager: it doesn't exactly make you the most popular person at Thrifty Acres. I walk to the bulletin board and looked at the schedule. Laura's scheduled for Saturday and Sunday, nine to five. That's not so bad. When I was a checkout boy, I had to work eight hour days nearly every day of the week. You don't get to the top without a little elbow grease. I'll have to have a talk with Laura about that. It can wait until Monday. I don't have to work this weekend. That's the thing about being a manager.

I walk across the parking lot and hop into my '03 Accord. As I fire up the engine, I find "Working for the Weekend" by Loverboy on my iPod while I sport the corniest grin this side of the Grand River. I decide to take the longer way home today so I can take in the beautiful autumn colors. The summers may be humid, the winters frigid, and the springs damp, but I live for Michigan falls. It takes me about twelve minutes to get home, but when I do, a sense of excitement washes over me. Maggie is with me for an entire week starting today. Carol finally decided to allow her to come see her father. I guess she can only keep our daughter in Ohio for so long. Five months, to be exact.

I walk through the front door and see the picture of Maggie and me that she took herself when she was eleven. A sentimental smile creeps on to my face as I think about all the good times we had before the divorce. I stroll into the kitchen and fire up the stove top to make eggs and pancakes. Tonight, we're having breakfast for dinner, Maggie's favorite. I check the clock, and it tells me that it's 5:45. Maggie should be here around six. This timing will be perfect. At quarter after, I have the pancakes made and the eggs are all ready to go. I just need my angel to walk through the front door. 6:45. 7:00. 8:00. I'm starting to get worried. Unlike her mother, Maggie is usually very punctual. I decide to give Carol a call.

The phone rings twice and then a familiar voice answers. "What do you want?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, thanks for asking. Where is Maggie? Did you send her on her way or what?"

"What are you talking about? She left over five hours ago. She said she couldn't wait to get up there, God help her. That girl's got an attitude that could make that Demi Lovato blush, but she still loves you for whatever reason." My heart rises up into my throat. "Paul, is this some kind of joke? Because if it is, I can make a call to my friend down at the alimony offices and arrange it so Maggie..." My phone starts vibrating. Unknown number coming in. "...do you understand me?"

"Loud and clear. She's pulling into the driveway right now. Everything's fine. I gotta go. Call coming in." Before Carol can answer, I switch the line. "Hello?"
"Dad?" comes a feeble voice into the earpiece.

"Maggie, where are you? Are you all right? You have me worried sick."

"Your daughter is fine, Mr. Aldridge. If you want her to remain that way, go to the address we send you. No cops. No weapons. No money. Just you. You have until midnight to rescue your daughter before you suffer my same fate."

"Listen, maybe we can make..." *click. The next thing I know, I'm in my car, ready to go get my daughter. I don't know where I'm going, but I'm definitely not staying here.

A Second Attempt

2011-11-15T19:56:00.001-08:00

I accidentally deleted my old blog, so here's a new one. I'll repost my old poems and my short story for your entertainment purposes. Started working on a new story tonight called Switch (working title). Should be pretty good. Part one coming soon.