Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

gone away to such places. Had Alfred not died, had he not been sent away after his mother’s death, perhaps they might have been able to go to such a camp, but as he had learned, death changes everything. Curious, he turned in.
    The camp was made up of a cluster of buildings, and each had a placard nailed above or next to its boarded up door, with a name carved into the wood. Each one was named for some kind of a sea creature. The ones he could read were Periwinkle, Starfish, and Lobster. Only two buildings had other identifying signs: the infirmary and the dining hall. He drove around slowly, studying each building. He wondered what each was for and imagined what it was like to stay there.
    Alfred stopped when he reached the furthest building, which was nestled behind some large sand dunes. He shut off his truck’s engine and could hear, even feel, the steady rhythm of the ocean as it pounded against the shore on the other side of the dunes. He rolled his window down and as he ate the rest of his food, now barely warm, he listened to the steady thump-shoosh of the breaking waves while the temperature inside his truck went down.
    The steady rhythm of the surf soon caused him to drift into another dimension and another time. Memories mixed and swirled, as fact became fiction and fiction, fact.
Had the winds but held, the Captain would have been right and Christine might have been there in time to tell her story. As it were, the winds died and the ship, with Christine aboard was two days late. When she tried to tell what she knew, no one believed her. The quilt was offered in evidence, but it was seen as the product of an overwrought, hysterical mind brought on by a long and difficult voyage. The Captain, with his stature and reputation, was unassailable and he scoffed at her allegations.
    No one believed her. Only he did. He, Alfred, could have helped her then, but he wasn’t there. Now, he intended to set the record straight. He had learned his lessons well. He knew how the game was played.
    During that dark time after his brother’s death, his mother would visit the spot where his brother had died and stand for hours on the river bank staring at the water. Fair weather or foul, he would find her there and on more than one occasion would have to coax her back home. One particular time, during a storm, she slipped out. He searched, but she had vanished. That’s when the voices started.
    He was alone and the authorities thought they knew what was best for him and sent him away ‘to get better’. They didn’t. A smile crept over his face as he remembered how he fooled them. he played his part so well that eventually he was declared cured and released.
    That’s when he was taken in by that nice couple who had the antiques business. They taught him the business. Everything in the store had a story and he learned them all. If a new item didn’t have a story, one was made up and the voices remained muted until he read that book.
    Several gulls cried, bringing him back to the present. The cadence of the endless surf never wavered, thump-shoosh, thump-shoosh, and soon instead of the waves breaking on the shore, what he heard were the voices chanting: Get it. Get it. Get it. Time was running out. Soon, others would figure out what he already knew and they would try to stop him. He had to get it.
    He shivered from the cold. He didn’t know how long he had been sitting there, but all of a sudden he realized that the sun was disappearing and clouds were taking over the blue sky. The voices faded as he rolled up his window and went silent when he started his truck. He swore that tomorrow he would succeed.

CHAPTER 92
    “HERE. I WANT YOU TO HAVE THIS.”
    “No. Polly, I can’t.”
    “Max, I insist. You and Jack have been so wonderful through all of this. Please.”
    Reluctantly, Max accepted the package as Polly pushed it into her hands. It was the same one she had returned only a few days earlier. “But it’s valuable …”
    Polly shushed and said, “No arguments. I want you to have this.”
    Surrendering, Max held on to the package with tight reverence. “Fine, but I’m only keeping it for you. When you want it back …”
    Polly cut her off. “I’m serious Max. It’s yours. I want you to have it. There’s nothing to discuss.”
    The quilt was carefully placed in the back seat of the car, hugs were exchanged, promises were made, and even a few tears were shed before Jack and Max drove down the drive and