Jack Beale 00 - Killer Run

the book. When the last page was read and the cover closed, he sat on the edge of his bed, not exactly sure what to do next. He would figure that out soon enough. Slowly, a grin formed across his face. Suddenly he found himself pacing back and forth, that grin, now a smile, frozen on his face, The sounds of his footsteps on the wide pine floors were the only sounds other than his pounding heart and the occasional creaks and moans of the old house. A celebration was in order. He raised his arms as if in victory over a fallen foe in the arena, shouting, “Alfred! Alfred! I figured it out.”
    Then he did a sort of celebratory jig, halting only when he remembered that he was alone. Alfred, his twin, was long dead. He stopped and sat back on the edge of the bed. The silence returned, and save for the sounds of the celebration that still echoed in his head, it remained his only companion.
    Still, his elation held firm. He was dazzled by how much the story meshed with what he knew, thought he knew and made up. In his mind it was the explanation he had looked for his entire life. It was the key and now he knew where he had to go to find the rest of the answers. He wanted to cry out, but he didn’t. He just sat on the edge of his bed, continuing to revel in that feeling of triumph and success.
    He looked over at the pillows that were still stacked against the headboard, his imprint still fresh. The book was lying on top of the covers, tipping ever so slightly into the dent that remained from his body. Scattered across the bed were sheets of paper―the notes that he had pulled from Polly’s fiction, notes that had become, to him, the facts about his family’s history, supporting the story that he had created while growing up in the antiques store.
    So many years gone by, so much time spent looking for clues, and now, when he least expected it, the answers were just given to him. Luck? Fate? He didn’t know or care. The final pieces to the puzzle that had been his life were within his reach and soon, very soon, his family’s honor would be restored, wrongs would be righted, and the final vindication would be his as he extracted the justice so long overdue.
    For the first time in ages he felt content, and in that moment he realized how tired he was. He lay back across his bed. The papers crinkled as his body crushed them, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was what he now knew. Her novel gave shape, form and definition to the dream he had had since childhood.
    The dream was always the same. In it, his father’s ship was set afire and he watched from shore as it burned. As the fire spread up the masts, the sails looked like so many arms and hands, flailing in agony until they were completely consumed by the flames and all hope was gone. His father was ruined, betrayed by other jealous merchants.
    He closed his eyes, the smile still on his face, and fell into a deep sleep.

CHAPTER 24
    “HONEY, I’M HOME,” Malcom called out as he stepped into the kitchen after coming in through the back door. He always announced his arrival that way, whether she was in sight or not. It was their thing.
    Polly was busy working at the sink washing some vegetables. She turned her head slightly and said, “Hi Mal. How was the trip?”
    “It was great. I found this really great lantern from a ship that will be perfect for the Captain’s suite.”
    He placed the box on the table while she stopped what she was doing and faced him. She took in his outfit and said, “You’re in your running stuff.” Even though she phrased it like a statement, it was obviously meant as a question.
    “Yeah. I finished early enough to be able to go for a run where that trail race will be held later this fall.”
    She picked the box up and, giving it a shake, asked, “What trail race?”
    “You remember, early November, trail marathon, The Rockdog. I’ve been planning on this for months now.”
    Polly nodded her head yes, but her recollection of that was fuzzy at best. She didn’t always pay attention to his running. She just didn’t get it.
    “Anyways, the shop owner where I got this lantern turned out to be a runner. He’s a bit odd, … no, different, but he offered to go run the course with me. I’m glad he did because I would still be lost in the woods had I gone by myself.”
    Polly was paying only cursory attention to what he said as she opened the box. All she heard was run, odd man, lost in woods . “Oh Mal, it’s perfect,” she said