Funeral of a Facebook friend.

I lost my best friend last week. Even though we had never met, or even spoken on the phone for that matter, Steve and I had been best Facebook buddies for the last four years. I remember we met when another friend "suggested" Steve to me as a friend. I sent him a friend request and he accepted. We hit it off immediately. We both liked the same pages. Every morning we raced to see who could poke who first. We were always the first to comment on each others statuses. We enjoyed chatting in the mornings before work while we drank our coffee's. Steve had gone through a rough patch in his life a couple years ago. His wife Julie had suddenly announced to him her rekindled love for her sixth grade crush Tommy Allen. They had recently reconnected on Facebook and started chatting and Tommy confessed he still had feelings for her and he was bored with his life and how it sucked. They secretly messaged each other back and forth and soon came up with a plan to leave their spouses and finally complete what they started when they were eleven. Julie quit her job, packed a suitcase and moved with Tommy to New Mexico, leaving my friend to fend for himself. Two months later he totaled his 1984 Chrysler K car when a drunk driver made a illegal U turn in front of him and forgot to turn. His insurance company actually wanted Steve to PAY THEM for the time it took the agent to go to his house to take a picture of the totaled car. After that he lost the house. His fourteen year old chihuahua paco, legally blind and deaf, escaped outside the front door as the people sent over from the bank were loading all his possessions in the Ryder truck. Paco didn't hear or see the chicken hawk swoop down from the sky and grab him. Before Steve could react the bird shot straight up into the sky and he never saw his little dog again. There wasn't a dry eye on his friend list when he posted his poem he wrote and dedicated to his beloved paco. I still remember some of the lines like "Oh paco, oh paco, why did you have to go". "Even though you couldn't hear me call, or see me down the hall, I always felt bad when you walked into the wall". And "On your last day you left me and soared through the air, even though you had hawk talons stuck in your fur and hair". Even after all the tragedy of that year Steve still inspired me and his other friends with all his shared inspirational posts. Post like "Don't let life get you down. Chose to be up and you will be." Or "Always be in your happy area and don't let mean people pull you out of it". I always shared those posts on my wall and was proud to call Steve my friend. We often private messaged each other and talked about getting together sometime to be able to finally meet but alias, fate had different plans. Last week there was a freak accident down at the Better Buy distribution warehouse where Steve worked. Witnesses reported seeing him texting on his smartphone while he was hauling a pallet of brand new fresh from China Taskinoglu Blu Ray DVD players backwards on his forklift. Somehow he veered of course and drove right out the open loading dock door. The back of the forklift hit the ground first and Steve was thrown onto the ground and the pallet of DVD players crashed down on him. First on the scene responders were shocked to see only his arm coming out from under the deadly pile of electronics. He still had his phone in his hand and the paramedics could only shake their heads when they discovered that he had been updating his facebook status. He had only got half of it typed and out of respect one of the paramedics hit send. Imagine my confusion when my phone vibrated at my job and I slipped it out to read what my best bud had said now. Of course, I didn't understand what had happened at that point. Steve's post merely read, "Bored out of my mind. I'm half tempted to just" and that was it. I commented first, like always. "To just what old buddy?" Soon others chimed in after Steve never answered, making a game out of posting something funny or crude. Todd said "To just confess I like guys LOL." Jake wrote "To go hunt Tommy Allen down in New Mexico and make him eat a shotgun sandwich?" Jenna Hopkins wrote "To call Jenna Hopkins and tell her I'm madly in love with her :) >>>3>>" We were all cracking up as each friend tried to out do the last one. Well we weren't laughing that night. Joe Hardin, one of Steve's coworkers, posted the news on Steve's wall that night. Joe had a uncanny ability to hack into peoples facebook accounts and post stupid comments while posing as them and he had had Steve's account info as well. Needless to say, we were all devastated. My best friend, whom I had never got to meet, was gone! Snuffed out by a pallet of Blu Rays. Soon all of Steve's friends were posting personal stories about the good times they had shared with him. Another friend of his created a page called In Remembrance of Steve. There we all reposted our favorite uploads and shares that Steve had posted over the years. Carl Collins, a old friend from his high school, created a event when the funeral was announced and sent out invites to everyone on Steve's friend list. I wanted to go real bad but with me being on the west coast and Steve living in Massachusetts it just wasn't possible to do so on such short notice. Still, I responded maybe just in case. Carl promised to take lots of pictures and even record the whole service with his iPhone and upload it all to his In Remembrance of Steve page. True to his word, he did. I watched the whole service that night. After the video I checked out Carls photo album he had put together. I met Steve's mom. His sister Karen. I finally saw a picture of his crazy uncle Phil. Uncle Phil didn't have a facebook page so no one really knew him. Some reps from Better Buy were there. Better Buy had picked up the whole tab for the funeral home and the service, probably more out of fear of a lawsuit then compassion for Steve, even though there were No Texting While Operating Forklift signs posted throughout the warehouse. They certainly spared no expense. The funeral home looked nice. A organist played soft music as the mourners filed in. They even payed for a luncheon immediately following the service that was catered by some group named Kathys Kountry Katering. Rest in peace my friend. I'm going to miss ya and I'm sorry we never got to meet.

The annual Valentines Dinner and Dance Gala

                                                          Happy Valentines Day                                                  

                                                                                                                                                                         February 14th. Valentines day, or evening as it actually was, and the annual dinner and dance ball was in full swing. Just like every year, the event hosted some of New York's finest. This was not a cheap event by any means. The per couple price tag to attend was more then most New Yorkers made in six, maybe even seven, months of employment. Most of the attendees had known extravagances like this their whole lives. Born into families that had made their fortunes long ago and tonight's guests had continued in those family businesses. There were wall street investors here. Men (and women) whose grandparents had formed companies that ran the gauntlet from oil and gas to railroads and real estate.  Thus making the party a very exclusive event. Those attending had been attending for many years and wouldn't dream of missing it. The setting each year was in the ballroom of the very posh New Yorker hotel on the upper side of Manhattan. Located on the 9th floor of the twenty four story hotel, the ballroom was the perfect venue for this party. The history of the place and the hotel was rich and far reaching. Built back in the 20's, the hotel had played host to several past presidents and celebrities over the years. Franklin D Roosevelt was the first president to visit. He had thrown a huge party here after defeating Hoover in 32. In fact, several of the idea's that made up his New Deal to help pull the county out of the great depression had been born that night in this very room with some of the movers and shakers of that time. Several other presidents had followed FDR's lead and they too had held their post election parties here at the New Yorker. Tonight's party certainly was living up to the hotels reputation. The guests had started arriving at 6 pm. As old friends mingled and got caught up, waiters in white tuxedos walked through the crowd serving flutes of perrier-jouet champagne. Over to the side on the slightly raised stage area Arnie Johnson and the Starry Night Orchestra quietly played along in the background. Their job now was to provide soft, soothing background music. Later after dinner the guests would have the chance be able to dance with their partners or just relax and enjoy the music. At 8:00 pm sharp dinner was served. The tables were covered with white linens and fine royal doulton china. Each table featured a vase centerpiece that was full of long stem red roses and dainty babies breath. After everyone had been seated Joseph Peterson, this years host and planner, raised his glass and offered a toast. To another year of health, good fortune and most of all, the reason they were all here. Love. May they enjoy this meal, each other and the one they brought with them tonight. The party goers dined on beef bourguignon, asparagus with cannellina bean sauce and grilled rosemary lamb chops. The wait staff kept busy attending to every need. Chairs were pulled out and pushed in for the ladies. Glasses were refilled as soon as they were empty. A little after 9 Arnie and the band gathered themselves back out on the stage. The four trumpet players blasted out a note and the rest of the musicians followed suit. Soon the band was belting out My Old Flame. Martha Kellerman was the first one up. She grabbed her husband John and with a laugh pulled him to his feet and started to tug him towards the dance floor. "If you all will excuse me," he said to his friends as they all laughed and raised their glasses. His wife was usually the first one on the floor every year and this was one was no exception. Soon others joined them. Karla and Steven Franz. Robert and Carol Steinman. By the time the band was finishing their song more then half of the couples were on the dance floor. When My Old Flame finished Arnie stepped up to the microphone as his audience applauded him. "Ladies and gentlemen, I want to thank you all for coming out tonight. I trust you all are having a wonderful evening and I hope that it continues. Please allow us to play some of your favorite songs and if you have any special requests by all means come up and let us know. In the meantime feel free to dance along or just sit back and socialize. The night is young and we aren't going anywhere for awhile. Again, thank you and happy valentines day!" More applause and then Arnie started to croon out their rendition of Love Sends a Little Gift of Roses as his orchestra backed him up. Up at the bar the bartender tended to a group of men who were enjoying some after dinner drinks and getting caught up with each other. Their wives congregated around a couple of the tables and shared stories that only women could tell and would want to hear for that matter. Keith Owens finished his drink and sat it down on the polished mahogany wood. Right away Stan was there. "Can I fill your glass Mr. Owens?" "No Stan, not quite yet." answered Keith and excused himself. He had been keeping a eye on Martha and John out on the dance floor, mostly on Martha. He had always found her to be a beautiful woman and he always felt a tinge of jealousy towards her husband John. Keith reached over and pulled out one of the long stem roses from the centerpiece vase that sat on the first table he passed on the way up to the dance floor. Approaching Martha's husband from behind he tapped him on the shoulder. John turned to see Keith standing there with a rose in his hand. "May I have this dance with your lovely wife John," Keith asked the man. "Why of course Mr. Owens you may. I need a break anyway. This woman is wearing me out! Martha, excuse me. I'll be up at the bar." "For you Martha" as Keith handed her the long stem rose. "Mr Owens, my your quite the charmer aren't you?" she asked him coyly. "I only get that way when I behold beauty Madam. May I have this dance?" "You may. What shall I do with this lovely flower you brought me?" "Here, give it to me. I'll lay it over here on the floor and I'll retrieve it for you after you've honored me with a dance." Keith took the rose and walked over to the edge of the stage and laid the flower on the floor. Right up by the stage it would be safe from getting stepped on or kicked around. He whisked back over and extended his right hand and Martha grabbed it with hers. He pulled her into him with his left and soon they were moving in time to the music as Arnie continued singing in his soft deep voice. "I gotta tell you Martha, you look stunning. You don't look like you have aged a day since last year." "Mr. Owens, if I didn't know you too be such a upstanding gentleman and a pillar of the community I would think you were coming on to me." Keith laughed as he weaved to the left with Mrs. Kellerman pulled tight. Meanwhile, outside the closed ballroom doors and down the hallway, maintenance man Mike Brooks was coming out of room 916. He looked at his watch and saw it read 9:40. He mentally cursed at himself for taking so long repairing the leak under the sink in the bathroom. The guests that had checked out that day had brought it to the attention of the front desk and the work order was added to Mike's long list of repairs that had to be done that day. He would have been able to leave on time at 5:30 if his two coworkers hadn't called in sick and abandoned him for that day. Course he couldn't much blame them. It was valentines day and both of them were newly weds celebrating their first valentines day married. He and his wife Debbie were veterans he guessed. They had been together for twelve years now so postponing their celebration a day or two wouldn't hurt. He had called her to tell her that he had had to cancel their dinner reservations. He simply could not leave work until the emergency repairs were done. He promised her that he would make it up to her this weekend and she had laughed and told him that he better! "Get your work done and get home here," she had playfully told him. Mike smiled as he thought of that. He pulled the door behind him shut and turned left to head to the elevator. After two steps Mike stopped. He cocked his head slightly. Was that music he heard? Very faintly, he thought that he did. Briefly, his breathing stopped and he remained motionless as he concentrated on any sound his ears might hear. There was only one. And it was music. But where could it be coming from? There were sixteen rooms on this floor and only a few of them were occupied. He turned around and started walking back in the opposite direction. Every five or six steps he would stop and retrain his ears. Clearly as anything he continued to hear the music. And now not only music but it sounded like voices and laughter were mixed in with it as well. Suddenly he was aware that his increasing heartbeat was starting to compete with the music in his ears. Was it coming from the ballroom? Maybe it was possible that the hotel was having a party here tonight but if they were he wasn't aware of it. Besides, they hadn't used this place in the twelve years he had worked here. He knew the story. The place was once been THE meeting place in New York city and it had hosted hundreds of events. But as time went by the owners of the hotel realized they needed a much more bigger and more modern meeting place if they were to hang on to their reputation as one of the city's finest hotels. So, twenty years ago they had gutted the entire top floor and converted it into the hotels new convention room that could play host to anything. Matter of fact, they were using it tonight and hosting the twenty first annual valentines dinner and dance gala. As Mike approached the former ballroom he knew that he had found the source of the noise. There WAS music playing on the other side of the shut doors. He placed his ear against the door, instantly think how dumb of a thing to do. Did he need to hear it any clearer then he was hearing it just standing here? There was no mistaking it. Someone was having a party in the old ballroom. He reached out to try the door and that's when he noticed his hand was shaking. He mentally guided it to the door handle and grasped it weakly in his hand. The handle felt cold. Really cold. Cold to the point that it almost hurt to have to grip it tight enough to be able to turn it to open the door. With his heart now pounding inside his chest he tried the door. Locked. Now his mind was racing. What should he do? Should he call the front desk and ask them who's using the room? They might tell him that yes, someone is hosting a private affair in there tonight. Only problem with that is he had been working right down the hallway for the last two hours and hadn't heard anyone coming or going. If  they answered that no one was using it then what? Would they think he was joking with them? What would they say if he told them that it was locked, supposedly empty but he could hear music and voices on the other side of the shut, locked doors. He decided to just knock on the door and find out himself who was in there. With a hand that was still shaky he tapped on the massive wooden door. Tap, Tap, Tap. No answer. The music kept playing. The people continued to talk and laugh. Regaining a little of his courage Mike pounded on the door. Louder this time. After the third knock the music died and the chatter ceased. He put his ear back up to the door and listened while deciding it didn't matter how dumb he looked.. Complete silence. "Who's in there?" asked Mike with a voice that now had turned dry and raspy, devoid of any moisture. Again, silence. With hands that had gone from shaky to full out trembling, Mike reached down and removed his keys from his tool belt. He had a key to every door of the New Yorker on his key ring. He knew he had one to the old ballroom but which one was it? All the keys were numbered and he knew the ones he used the most but it had been years since he had been in here. Fumbling through the keys with hands that didn't want to cooperate, he stopped on one that stood out from the rest. It was older looking. The initials B.R were burnt on the side. This was it! Mike took several deep breathes and tried to will his heart and hands to slow down. Using both hands (one to hold, one to guide) he slid the key in the door knob and turned it. He felt the tumblers inside the handle turn and drop and he knew he had unlocked the door. After replacing his keys on his belt he grabbed the cold door handle again. This time it didn't resist and opened for him. Slowly he pushed open the door and as the first crack between the two doors appeared Mike saw total darkness. Still pushing ever so slowly he reached down on the other side of his belt and removed his flashlight. His heart returned to it's rapid beating but now it felt like it was in his head and throat. A wave of fear came over him that he had never felt before. Every hair on his head and body seemed to stand at attention. "Hello" he attempted to say but instead it came out like some kind of guttural groan. He squeezed through the opening in the doors and surprised himself by how quickly he reached the side of the door where the master light switch was. He turned on the light switch and heard a muffled popping sound and saw the faintest glow of light start in the chandeliers. He remembered that these lights were slow to fully come on and it took time for them to do so. He turned on his flashlight and lifted it up so the beam of light shone out in front of him. The ray of light showed tables covered with protective sheets and boxes stacked on them. As he moved the light to his right he could see the stage platform. More boxes were stacked on it. In the light given off by his flashlight the cardboard looked yellow and faded. As the light from the chandeliers started to grow stronger Mike could see that boxes were everywhere in this room. Apparently the old ballroom of the New Yorker had become a storage unit. Old signs leaned against the far left wall. The bar towards the back had long ago gone dry. The once dark and deeply rich mahogany bar now was faded, covered with dust. The mirror behind it was dirty and reflected only junk. His courage seemed to grow as the light from above did. He slipped inside the room and turned off his flashlight. Didn't need it anymore. As he holstered it back into his tool belt something caught his eye. There was something on the floor up by the old stage. It had color to it. Color in this old, musty smelling room where most of the colors had faded away a long time ago. Mike walked toward the object to investigate. As he approached it he stopped and bent down to pick it up. It was a single long stem red rose. He felt it to make sure it was real. It was. He smelled it and it offered fragrance over the staleness of the room. Whoever had dropped this flower in this room had been here recently. Very recently.  As he scratched his head and tried to make sense of all this he heard what sounded like a lady giggle behind him. Whipping around in a instant he shouted out "Who's there!" Another giggle and then Mike felt bodies all around him. He couldn't see them but he didn't have to. He sensed them. He felt them. Standing on what used to be the old dance floor he felt surrounded by them. The terror he had felt before came rushing back like a freight train. Mike dropped the rose and bolted towards the door. Getting out of this place was the only thing his mind could focus on. He raced across the room and bolted out of the door that he came in through. He hit the hallway at full stride and didn't even stop to take the elevator down. The stairs were straight ahead and they would do just fine. Meanwhile, back in the direction Mike had just come from, the light was starting to fade again inside the old ballroom. The light switch was now in the off position and just as it took several minutes for the lights to power up it also took them time to fully shut off. With the last bit of light fading, the door to the ballroom slammed shut. The lock tumblers could be heard falling in place. And then the music started again.

A few things I learned on my recent vacation

I recently took off a week to spend Thanksgiving with my family in Delaware. We took a few days to get up there and spent two coming back. Some of the things that I learned along the way,


Paula Deen's restaurant in Savanna has good fried chicken.


Do not walk the entire city of Savanna searching for the famous Bird Girl statue used in the book and movie titled Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. She is not there. Nor is she in the cemetery that is 15 minutes outside the city. She actually now resides in a museum. Ask before spending the entire day looking for her.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                In the south, it doesn't matter how lost you are or how far out in the middle of nowhere you are, there is always a decent barbecue place somewhere around.

South Carolina has cheap gas.


South of the border actually has pretty decent food. All these years I thought they only had cheap Pedro souvenir's.


I love the "Mutha"!!

Both the top AND the bottom of the earth are cold (thanks Greg for that lesson).


Speaking of cold, Delaware is cold towards the end of November.

 
I miss my Dad.


Jimmy Wharton still makes some darn good scrapple! 
                                                                                  
                                                                                                                                                                       
The traditional Thanksgiving foods are good but sitting down with family to share them is better. 

Bus Stop 6691

For Elizabeth Whaley, who said I should write a story about a bus stop.

Paul Jenkins pulled hard on the cigarette. He had been wanting to quit for quite sometime now but tonight was not the night for that. His nerves raced and his stomach was in knots. He really thought that he had lost it. All out, goodbye forever mind, been nice knowing ya crazy. It was 11:45 pm, fifteen minutes away from midnight. That's when "it" was suppose to show up, if "it" really existed. Paul doubted it did. He nervously checked his wristwatch again. A second look confirmed it was really 11:45. He had gotten here just in time. Fifteen more minutes and he would know if there was any truth to what the old man had told him about this place. In the days that followed Paul's encounter with the old homeless guy he had researched this area. On this corner was a old abandoned bus stop, the long defunct 6691 bus stop. The 6691 stop sat on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Windsor Park where it had once served the east side of Chicago, back when people actually lived over on the east side of Chicago. The city closed it down twenty five years ago when the blue collared, middle class families began moving away, chased out by the gang members and the drug dealers. Most drivers had refused to take that particular route, especially after the shootings and robberies that fell on several of their friends and colleagues. Today, the bus stop was just just a empty, rusty shell. The Plexiglas that covered the old bolted down bench had a few cracks from the kids that finally had giving up trying to shatter it and knock it out. Most of it was clouded over, impossible to see through the thick dirty glaze covering it. Weeds came up from the cracks in the pavement, trying to cover over the structure. Many a homeless persons had spent a cold night sleeping on the old bench. Empty liquor bottles littered the ground and the smell of old, stale urine filled the air. Police sirens sang their nightly serenade off in the background. Just a typical night over on the east side of the big Windy City. Paul himself lived about a hour and so away, in a small, modest two bedroom/one bath outside of the more upscale area of Bedford Park. He once have lived in Bedford Park, back when he was a different person, living a different life. That was before the fire, back before the Paul of today. Exactly two hours and forty five minutes ago Paul had left his house heading for his destination. He doubled checked the two important things he had to have. The eight quarters for his fare and the piece of paper that he had wrote on earlier. He had taken the train across the city to the Jackson Park station. From there buses ran out in each direction but to get to the old 6691 stop Paul was on his own. He walked outside to where the long line of cab drivers sat, trying to stay awake by any means they could. Some gathered in small groups talking about sports and women and politics or whatever tonight's topic happened to be. Some talked on cell phones, some cat napped, waiting for a potential client. Paul stepped to the curb and raised his hand in the "I need a cab" position and immediately the front group snapped to it and tried to beat each other to their cars, each one desperate for a fare on this cold, late fall evening. Driving someone somewhere would give them reason to be in their cars with the heat running and getting warm instead of just letting the car idle and watching the fuel needle slowly fall. The winning cab driver jumped in his drivers seat and quickly started his engine, put his car in drive and raced up to where Paul was standing. He was a dark skinned man, Haitian probably, like so many of the other city cab drivers. Paul opened the back door and climbed in the cab. "Where to my friend" asked the cabbie. Yep Paul thought to himself, Haitian, I guessed it. "I want to go to the corner of Mawr and Windsor" answered Paul. The Haitians face immediately changed, like he had just heard some unsettling thing. He looked at Paul, like Paul was going to say no man, I'm kidding. But he didn't. He just stared back at the driver, waiting for his reply. "That's a dangerous area man. You have business there?" "Yes, you could say that" answered Paul. "Fares are double for that part of town my friend. Too risky, too dangerous" said the cabbie. Paul thought he noticed something in the mans voice. Fear maybe? Certainly hesitation. "I'll pay you whatever, just get me there," mumbled Paul. The cabbie gave Paul one finally look over, shrugged and turned around and put the car in gear. The cab drove off, disappearing into the night.


Four years before Paul Jenkins climbed into the back of that cab things had been different. Paul was married to Sarah back then, his soul mate and the love of his life. They had meet in collage. They didn't date long, they both knew they were meant for each other. After one year and four months of marriage came Timothy Steven Jenkins, Timmy for short. Timmy's middle name was a tribute to Sarah's Dad, who had passed away earlier that year. Those eight years of marriage had been good to the Jenkins family. Paul was a successful financial advisor for a fortune 500 company. They lived in a upscale home in the upscale neighborhood of Bedford Falls, a suburb of Chicago, over on the west side. They were living the American dream. They hosted lavish parties on the weekends. Timmy attended a very private school that most parents couldn't afford to send their kids to. But that was all before that night, that horrible night when everything that Paul held dear was taken away. It was a Saturday. That night they had had some friends over for dinner, then some drinks. Everyone was having a good time. Around 10 the friends started leaving, full and a little tipsy. After the last guests had left Paul helped Sarah clean up some of the plates and glasses. "I'm going to save the rest for tomorrow. Lets go to bed dear" Sarah said, half speaking, half yawning. "You go on up hon. I'm going to watch the news and then I'll be up" replied Paul as he pulled his wife close into him. They kissed and Paul thought about how much he loved this woman, how much she meant to him, how she was so much a part of him. "Okay you, but don't be long" said Sarah back to him with that voice and smile that he loved. "I'll check on Timmy and make sure he's wrapped up. Good night love" and with that she turned and walked up the stairs. Paul pulled off his shoes and grabbed the remote. He turned on the TV and layed back on his sofa. The news was still about 15 minutes away and some detective show was wrapping up and the culprits were being revealed and also their reasons why they did what they did. "These shows are a dime a dozen" he thought to himself. As he watched the police start to move in on the suspects his eyes got heavy. And heavier. Paul was asleep before the news even started.


The next thing that happened was something that he had run over and over in his mind ever since that night. Paul wasn't sure what exactly had awoken him first. The screams, the searing heat, the smoke. Maybe it was all three. He only knew that that was the moment when his world ended. He jumped up off the sofa, his mind cloudy and hazy, partly by the sleep, the other part by the alcohol. When he did gather his senses he stood frozen in disbelief. Flames were everywhere inside their home. The whole room seemed to be engulfed. The heat was unbearable, the air was thick with smoke. Then the screams, Sarah's screams. Screams for help, screams for Paul, screams for anyone. "I'm coming baby" shouted back her husband over the angry roar of the flames. And he really did try to get up the stairs, through the fire that had swallowed them and licked at the ceiling and the walls. The heat was unbearable but he knew he had to get to his wife and son. Nothing else mattered but that. The flames licked at his clothes and skin and the smoke threatened to completely choke him. Soon the next thing he knew was someone big behind him, pulling him away. Away from his wife , his son, his world. "No" screamed Paul. "I have to save them!" but he was no match for the lumbering firefighter who had grabbed him from behind and was pulling him to safety, away from the inferno. "We're trying to get to them but you have to get out!" shouted the fireman through his mask at Paul. But they didn't get to them. No one did. And that was the day Paul Jenkins life as he had known it ended.


It took him a long time before he was able to go back to work. Thankful, he worked at a family owned company and they had told him to take off as long as he needed before even thinking about coming back to work. Eight long torturous months before he went back. Everyday, reliving that night when his world was turned upside down. The nightmares, the what ifs, the second guessing himself. If only he had gone to bed when Sarah went, he would have maybe been able to drag her and Timmy to safety. The official cause of the fire simply listed faulty wiring as the cause of the fire. Which really meant there was no other obvious reason for the fire so we have to list something. Faulty wiring was always a good standby. Paul had thought about what could have caused it a thousand times. A bad electrical cord? A wire connection somewhere in the wall? And why didn't the smoke detectors go off and give them some warning. He had changed the batteries a couple times over the years they lived there. The chief fire investigator did seem to think that the fire started somewhere near the laundry utility room. Something about the wood framing of the house was charred the worst in that area. But really, none of that really mattered anymore. He had lost the two most important things in his life that night.Now, they were gone. And Paul was just a shell of a man. A mans body but someone with only a piece of soul. Most of it ripped apart and torn away. He had bought a small home away from where their old home had been. It was just to painful to remain in the same area. With the insurance money from the house and the life insurance policies Paul was well taken care of but he needed to work. He had to work. It was the only time when his mind was free of the thoughts and the images of his wife and son. And at night the dreams would come. Dreams that haunted him. So sweet and innocent at first but they always turned bad.Sometimes the dreams would be of him and Sarah in college. They were young, she was beautiful. They had their whole lives ahead of them. They would embrace and kiss and Paul could taste the lip gloss she always used and he could smell her perfume she always liked to wear. Sometimes the dreams would be when they were married and they had just gotten the baby asleep in his crib and they would quietly make their way into their bedroom and they would lay on the bed and Paul would take her and Sarah would have to be careful that her moans and groans didn't wake up their son. Sometimes the dreams would be of him and his son outside playing with that electric car they had given Timmy that one year for his birthday. Sometimes he would be in the floor tickling and playing with him. But even the nicest, sweetest dreams ended in horror. He and Sarah would be embracing and then her skin would start bubbling and she would start to scream at Paul. She would scream "Why, Paul?" "Why didn't you save me? You said you loved me!" Then her skin and flesh would start to melt and begin dripping off of her mouth and face, revealing the jawbone and soon the part of the skull that it was connected to. Or Timmy would stop laughing from the tickling and start crying instead. "Daddy, why didn't you come get me?" "I was waiting for you to come save me" he would ask as his clothes started to smoke. And every time Paul would wake up and HE would be the one screaming. Screaming out for Sarah. For Timmy. He had become a loner. His life was a routine. Work, come home, prepare something to eat, clean up, watch TV and then try to sleep. His co workers felt sorry for him and invited him out to different functions but he always politely declined. Being with other couples only sharpened the pain of his loss. So went Paul's life. He had become a loner. Alone with just his heartache and pain for companionship.


Paul lit another cigarette and checked the time. His watch now showed 11:50. Ten minutes and he would know if there was anything to the story the old homeless guy on the street corner had told him that day. Common sense had told him there was no truth to it but the man that had told him seemed like he knew what he was talking about and listening to him, one could almost believe the rambling tale. It had been a extremely cold morning that day and Paul was on his way to his favorite corner shop for a coffee and bagel before work. To the left of the door was where the homeless guy was. There was nothing that stood out about the guy. He looked like every other homeless person that populated the city. But this guy had a look on his face like he was waiting for someone. Then he turned and they made eye contact and Paul knew that HE was the one the guy had been waiting for. How he knew he had no idea but he knew. He could see it on the old bums haggardly, weather worn face. Paul normally avoided the homeless but something about this guy made him stop, stop dead in his tracks. "Spare a couple dollars for a cold, hungry man?" the guy asked. All Paul had on his was the ten dollar bill in his front pocket that he planned to use for his coffee and breakfast but suddenly it seemed important to give it to this guy. He reached in his pocket and took out the bill and offered it to the man. Smiling and showing teeth that been neglected for quite some time the old man looked down at the ten dollars now in his hand and his grin broadened. When he looked up he looked different. Paul couldn't put his finger on what looked different but something did. There was a gleam in the mans eye that wasn't there before. Before his eyes were dull and cold and almost lifeless but now there was a light of some sort. A glint that hadn't been there before. While Paul stood frozen looking at the man and trying to figure out what kind of trick his mind was trying to play on him the homeless guy suddenly reached out and grabbed Paul's arm with his free hand. Paul wanted to snatch it away and run. Run away quickly from this guy who was now setting off every internal alarm in his body. But he couldn't. He just stood there looking (he was sure) stupid at the guy. Mouth opened, wanting to tell the man to let go of him, but not able to produce any words. The old man pulled Paul close to him and he could smell every kind of filth one could imagine on the old man. The stench was nauseating, like nothing he had ever smelled before and prayed he never would again. "Your generosity is greatly appreciated Paul Jenkins" the old man said in a hoarse, raspy voice. "Dear Lord he knows my name. How is this possible" thought Paul to himself. "I know lots of things young man" the bum answered, as if Paul had spoke the words instead of thought them. "I also know what keeps you up every night and haunts your dreams when you do sleep. I know what happened to your family and I also know about a place you can go if you want to go back and fix what happened" the old man said to Paul. "Who are you and how do you know me or anything about me" he asked the man. "Lets just say I can see things and I see your hurt and pain. There's a place on the corner of Bryn Mawr and Windsor Park where you can catch a ride. Not any old ride but a special ride. A ride back to your past if there's something that needs to be fixed". "Your crazy, get your hands off of me now!" Paul said, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable. "Am I?" the old man asked. "If you want to go back and change things so you can be with your wife and son again then listen to what I tell you." And now Paul did listen. He didn't know how this guy knew these things but nevertheless he knew. Was this possible? No. Was it happening? Yes. "Tell me what to do" he asked. "That's better my friend. You've helped a cold, hungry man, now I want to help you" replied back the dirty, filthy smelling man. "There's a old bus stop on that corner. It's not been used in years. You go and be there before midnight and you wait. And go alone or he won't come. The fare is two dollars. It must be eight quarters. You write down the address of where you want to go and the date you want to go there on a slip of paper. You believe with all your heart that he's coming and he will show up. When he does you get on that old bus and then you put your fare and the slip of paper in the box and he will take you there. You'll have 12 hours there after he drops you off and you do what you must. But be warned of this Paul Jenkins, whatever you do on that day affects today. Be careful of the changes you make. Whats done then is still done today. Oh, and one more thing. You MUST be back at where he drops you off at exactly 12 hours later to the minute to come back here or your stuck there forever. Understand? There is no second chance. If you get off at 4 pm then you be back there the next day at 4 am. Not 4:01. Do I make myself clear on that?" Paul just nodded his head. At this point he was unable to do anything else. None of it made sense or was even believable for that matter. But the old man spoke with a certainty in his voice like he was explaining directions to the other side of town or some other everyday thing. "Good, enjoy your ride Paul Jenkins and may you have success with whatever you need to fix." Then the old man just simply turned and walked away. And Paul just stood there, unable to get his thoughts together or understand what had just happened. That was two months ago. He had replayed that encounter in his mind everyday since. It couldn't be possible. It was simply impossible. The man was suggesting time travel. A hundred movies had been made about it and books had been written about it and now here he was waiting to participate in it. Was he crazy? Yes, he was sure he had slipped off the deep end, into the waters of insanity. Why else would he be out here on this cold, dark night. He had looked at every angle he could think of since the chance encounter with the man. Maybe his co-workers had given the man all that information about him and had him appear to him as a joke? Maybe the old guy had read about the fire in the paper and it was his idea of some kind of sick prank? Still, there had been something very convincing about the man and his story. Paul had simply decided to see if there was any truth to the tale at all. Finally, to just go to the place the man had told him about and see for himself. So here he was. Waiting at what he had discovered used to be called bus stop 6691.


At 12:01 Paul had decided he was a idiot. He had come out here tonight half expecting to see something and midnight passed and here he stood. Alone, cold and feeling pretty stupid. A wasted night. A lot of money paid to a cab driver and now he had to call and try to find another willing to come get him and probably charge him another small fortune. As he reached into is pocket to pull out his cell phone he turned and looked down Windsor Park Street and his blood went cold. Down the street about a quarter of a mile was a wall of white stuff. Stuff because Paul could not think of anything else to describe it. It was fog, a heavy mist or clouds, maybe a combination of all three. Whatever it was it seemed to be alive. The white swirl rolled around and into itself. The top fell to the bottom and the bottom rose to the top. The outside rolled inward while the inside rushed out to replace it. And it glowed. Glowed with some kind of internal light. It illuminated the darkness around it. And it was moving, coming towards him. Paul stood there looking at the stuff much like he had looked at the old man when he told him about his dead wife and son and the story of this place. Mouth open like he wanted to speak but the words frozen in his throat. Words that wouldn't have made any sense anyway. As the stuff rolled lazily towards him it covered and devoured the street signs in its path. The swirling stuff went up as high as the street lamps and even the ones whose bulbs weren't burnt out disappeared into the thick haze. As it got closer Paul thought he could make out two bright lights in the front low to the road that looked just like eyes. Just then a rip in the stuff rolled down and under the eye lights and Paul burst out laughing. Whatever this thing was, it had a face and it was smiling at him. Paul laughed and slapped his leg (I'm losing it) because the only other thing he could do was scream and he knew if he started doing that then he probably would never stop. So he laughed. And he laughed some more. Soon the swirling mass of stuff was right in front of him and the smile was gone. The two "eyes" were still there and now he realized that they weren't eyes but headlights. He also noticed that the smile was actually a bent, twisted fender that somehow was able to reflect some of the headlights glare even though the thing was mostly covered in rust. Paul felt a fear sweep over him like he had never felt before but at the same time he was glad to be standing next to this whatever it might be. He took a step back as the rolling mass went past him a few feet and then stopped. Now his blood went from cold to ice. Paul wanted to turn around and run. Run and run and not look back. Run until his legs couldn't run any more. But he was frozen to the spot he was standing on. Every nerve in his body tingled with fear and apprehension. His eyes widened as two doors appeared in the fog, then loudly protested with a metal screeching scream as they slowly opened. They appeared to be doors like you would see on a bus. And when they opened fully then Paul Jenkins discovered what REAL fear was. It WAS a bus behind those doors and a ghostly, hooded figure sat in the drivers seat. The driver/thing was wearing a dark, mangy hooded robe and it just st there motionless, looking straight ahead. "Who are you" Paul managed to ask with a trembling voice that also sounded incredibly dry. Sounded like that because it was dry. Paul realized that the moisture in his mouth had dried up about the same time he had first seen the stuff. "Where are you going" was his second question. The thing just sat there, staring at some invisible road ahead. But this time the thing did move, ever so slightly at first. As if it was a struggle, the thing started to raise its right arm and slowly move it towards the center of the front of the bus. It pointed a finger, no, finger was not the right word, it pointed what USED to be a finger, now just a yellowish, dry looking bone towards the fare box that was mounted on the dash of the vehicle or whatever this thing was. "Okay, I get it" he muttered to himself more then to the thing/driver. "Your going to the address that I have wrote on this slip of paper in my pocket right?" Ever so slowly Paul saw the thing nod. "Okay then, lets see how all this plays out. If I'm crazy then I'm already at the place of no return" he thought to himself. While his legs felt like they were suddenly made of lead he lifted the right one first and stepped onto the step of the bus. He almost had to put his hands on his left leg and pull up on it to get it to follow his right one. Never had walking been such a chore. Two more struggling steps and he was on the bus, standing right next to the thing who was going to drive him to 1800 Darington Avenue. The thing behind the wheel continued to point at the fare box and Paul slipped the piece of paper into the box. Quickly reaching into his pocket he grabbed the pieces of loose change and pulled them out. He dropped the quarters in the box and the doors slowly shut behind him in that same moaning protest as before. As Paul stared down at the space on the ground that he had been occupying just a few minutes ago the stuff quickly swirled in and consumed it up. The swirling stuff surrounded the bus. Every window he looked out of the stuff was there. Rolling, banking, coming, going. Paul took a seat a couple rows back and the thing released the brake and the bus began to move. Move towards 1800 Darington Avenue. Normally a one hour ride from this part of town, give or take a few but this one might take longer. This one was going back in time. Four years back to be exact.

As he turned towards the back of the bus he moved back four or five rows before settling down on one of the seats. He wanted to, had to, put some distance between himself and the thing behind the wheel of this "bus". Still, he didn't want to be to far back. He wanted to be able to see that thing, to be ready to act if he had to. It was hard to see inside here. Any light inside was coming from the faint illumination that was coming from inside the fog. Confident that there was enough distance between him and the driver Paul settled down on one of the seats. Sitting wouldn't be the right word. He was to on edge to sit. Instead, he eased down onto one of the seats and leaned back. He tried to get his bearings inside this rusty, dirty hull of metal and glass. Was this thing moving? It felt like it but with the fog and mist swirling outside the windows it was hard to tell. His mind was just to overwhelmed by this whole experience. Where was he? Was he really home in bed, having yet another nightmare? Maybe his mind had grown tired of replaying the same old movie every night that starred his (former) wife Susan and (also former) son Timmy. Then he realized this wasn't a dream when the bus hit what had to be more then a pothole in the road, it was more like a sinkhole that had suddenly opened up and took a good section of road down into it. The bus slammed down in the hole and bounced back up and Paul flew up off his seat and bit his tongue so hard that he was amazed he didn't sever it right in half! He had no time to wonder what it was and then there was another one, then another. What ever road this thing was on now was no longer a road he had ever traveled on. He thought crazily for a second that this is what our good old boys over fighting in those third world sand lots must feel like when their driving through one of those places that's been decimated by land mines and bombs and every other imaginable device designed to create destruction. He desperately reached out and grabbed the old, rusty handrail beside his seat with his right hand and lashed out with his left one to grab whatever it came in contact with first, which happened to be the arm rest that divided the seat he was on with the seat to his left. And there was noise. And light. As the road got rougher and Paul had to hold on to keep from being bounced around like a kid bounces in one of those birthday party bounce houses, the light outside in the fog got a little brighter and the weird humming noise started. Soon the light was pouring in through the windows and illuminating the old metal hull. It looked old and run down. He briefly wondered about the other ones that had taken a ride in this magical express. Where were they heading? What was their thing that needed fixing? Had they suffered as he had? The thought was chased out of his head though by the deafening roar that was drilling into his head. It seemed to be coming from somewhere out in the fog as well. He would have slapped his hands over his ears to try to muffle it but letting go of the rail and armrest would probably send him on another unintended ride besides this one. There was absolutely no doubt now that they were moving. They were three levels beyond just moving. Every sense of Paul's body recognized the fact that they were traveling at hyper speed. The light was now blinding inside the bus. He shut his eyes. The noise threatened to shatter his eardrums. He just had to cover then up. As he released his grips he slapped his hands to the sides of his head to keep his head from exploding. He also dropped down to the floor and attempted to wedge himself between the seats. And then he screamed. Screamed for his eyes that were being blinded by this intense, white light. He screamed also for his poor ears, he was pretty sure his eardrums where soon going to implode and he would never be able to hear again. And screamed for the fact that if this ride didn't end soon then it probably wasn't going to matter. He would die blind and deaf but that would be okay because there was nothing to see or hear anyway. And then as fast as it had started, it stopped. He had fallen to the floor from his self made wedge and all he could do was just lie there. He opened his eyes. There were those bright speckles of light swirling and dancing around in front of them like everyone gets from time to time and they wonder if it is a early onset of blindness creeping up on them or if there could be some other kind of problem that they should discuss with a doctor but then it goes away and you forget about it until the next time it happens. And he had a loud ringing in his ears, like he had had front row tickets to some loud, talentless rock band who disguised their lack of talent with loudness. But, by golly, he was alive. He reached up to try to pull himself up from the floor of the bus and grabbed the handrail he had been holding only moments ago but snatched his hand away so quickly that he fell back to the floor. The handrail was cold to the touch and it was SHINY. Not old and rusted as before but new looking. New looking because it was new. It was shined and buffed so that you could see your reflection in it, although distorted of course. By now the northern constellation of lights that had been dancing before his eyes were beginning to fade and Paul was able to take in his surroundings. The floor that he lay on was clean. The back of the seat looking up at his left looked new. The bottom of the one to his right was the same. He grabbed that new rail and this time didn't snatch away but instead pulled himself up, up onto his wobbly legs. And then fell back down on the new, clean, fake leather but a good imitation of it seat. He tried to take it all in. The thing he had boarding was old, dirty, beat up. This thing he sat in now was new. Brand spanking new. There wasn't a spot of dirt anywhere. The windows sparkled. The floor was swept and clean. ALL the handrails were shiny and polished. It was just to much to take in. "Here we are my friend," and Paul jumped back from his stupor. He turned his head toward the voice and the thing/driver that had brought him here was gone. In his place sat a little man. "Hey pal, you okay?" the driver asked in a shrill, annoying voice. It was one of those voices that made you want to tell the person to shut up or they risked getting decked if they continued to talk. 'Yes", he answered back. He looked at the man that now sat behind the wheel of the bus. He was in full uniform. A darkish blue one at that. On his head he worn a heavy looking hat with a short brim. He had a jacket and wore a dress shirt under that with a matching tie. He had a pudgy neck though. Paul thought it looked like the collar was maybe to tight and the guy probably was dying to loosen the tie and unbutton a few buttons. That pudgy neck and the head above it was red, like it wasn't getting a good supply of oxygen nor blood. And his eyes. Something about them set his internal alarm off. They were dark, too dark. And lifeless. Maybe this was the same driver that had picked him up. He had just got a quick makeover, like the bus had done. What was once old is now new he thought to himself. "Where are we" he asked the driver. And the driver answered him back in that same high pitched voice that made Paul cringe. "Why, we are at your stop you requested. Where else would we be? 1800 Darington Avenue, exactly where you asked to go when you got on friend. You sure your feeling okay?" "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks," "Okay then, here you go" and the driver twisted the lever that made the front doors open with a big whisssing sound. "And thanks for traveling with your friends at C.T.A and always remember, if you wanna go there then we can get you there. Have a good day," and he gave Paul the biggest crap eating grin he had seen in quite sometime. "Okay buddy, thanks" muttered Paul as he took the first of three steps down into a world that he wasn't sure of what world it was. I guess I'm about to find out he thought to himself. The second step down was when the man called out to him and it scared him because this wasn't a voice he had heard yet. This was a deep voice that made people stop and take notice when they told them too. "Look at the place where you get off this bus Paul Jenkins and you look good. You have exactly 12 hours to do whatever you have to do and be back at this very spot. Bring no one else, only yourself. It's now 3:20 pm. I'll be back here at 3:20 am to pick you up. If your here at 3:21 you will miss the bus and there won't be another one. You'll be here for good. Do I make myself clear?" "Yeah, I got it. See you tomorrow morning at 3:20" "Good Paul Jenkins!" and that shrill voice was suddenly back. Cheerful but yet TO cheerful. Almost seemingly mocking cheerful. Paul turned back around and took that final step down. He took a couple steps away and again heard that whisssing sound as the bus doors shut behind him. He turned around and watched as the big bus started to drive away and he watched it until it was almost out of sight. Then he turned around to survey the scene at 1800 Darington Avenue. And to go home. Finally, after all this time.

Bus Stop 6691. The Reunion

Everything looked just like Paul remembered it looking like. To his left was the Bernsteins house. As was his custom every Saturday afternoon, Rick was in the driveway washing his beloved beemer. But could it be? Paul remembered someone saying that Rick and Diane had split up and eventually divorced not long after the fire and the home was sold for a fraction of what they paid for it. They had both moved out and moved on. He didn't really know what had become of either one of them. And yet, here he was. As he watched him Rick turned and saw him. "Hey Paul! See you tonight at the party! Diane's excited and is taking something special over for Sarah! Diane is sure she will love it! It's going to be a good time!" Paul forced a half smile and slowly raised his hand to acknowledge his old neighbor. "See ya then" he answered back in a as near normal voice as he could muster. "And hey! Whats with the jacket? It's 85 degrees out here! You feeling okay?" Paul stared at his old neighbor, clueless as to what to say. "He's right" he thought to himself. It had been cold when Paul left whatever was where he had been before this moment he was in now. Was that what is real or is this place real? His brain was just to overwhelmed to process it all. Everything around him LOOKED real enough. Here was his old friend and neighbor whom he hadn't seen in years talking to him just like he had seen him only yesterday. "Uhhh, I was walking past Davids place and he was trashing a lot of his old clothes and he asked me if I wanted this jacket. Said it was practically brand new but he didn't wear it cause Judith hated it on him. I tried it on and it fit so I took it off his hands to help him keep the peace in the family" he half heartily said while trying to look believable. "Oh okay. Good deal, I think its a nice looking coat. You did okay my friend." "Thanks, he mustered back, thankful that his old friend had bought the lie. "Get rid of the coat asap" he told himself. After all Rick was right. He hadn't given any thought to the fact that yes it was cold and late when he got on that bus or whatever it was and the date he returned to (for lack of a better description) was in the middle of summer. As soon as he was out of sight of Ricks place he quickly pulled the coat off and rolled it up as tightly as he could. Four more steps forward and he was lifting the lid to Carl and Ellen's trashcan at the end of their driveway and jamming the coat down inside between the bags of yard waste. Carl and Ellen, always working in their yard. The grass always perfectly cut. The shrubs trimmed neat and evenly across the tops. Their yard was the envy of the neighborhood, the one everyone else strives to have. They would be at the party tonight. Sarah and Ellen were friends but he never cared for Carl. Always loud, always mouthing off about this and that, always right and everyone else always wrong. The typical jackass of the neighborhood, just like every neighborhood had. Paul quickly and quietly replaced the lid on the can and quickened his pace towards his house. On his right he saw Karen Chambers out pulling weeds in the flower bed in front of her house. Her son Ben was mowing the lawn, another weekly event on Darington Avenue. Soon Karen's husband Tom would be arriving, home from his once a month Saturday shift at the office. Paul knew it was his Saturday to work or else he would be out there helping Karen with the flowers or Ben with the grass. Seeing them gave him even more hope and he walked even a little faster. His place was up here on the the left, right next to the Thompson's place. He could see the top of his house, soon he would have the full view as soon as he got by the Thompson's white picket fence that divided their property. The fence that had caused hard feelings at first because he knew it was just a little to far over the line towards his property. But Sarah had calmed him down. Just like she had always been able to do. "Why lose two good friends over something so trivial" she had said at the time and Paul knew she was right. That's why he loved her so much. She had that gift and he so missed that as much as he missed her. He was directly in front of the Thompson's place now. Ten more quick steps and he was to the fence. One more and he was past it. And he stopped, frozen solid in his tracks. Everything actually stopped. His steps, his heartbeat, his breathing, even his thoughts. There was a little boy, playing in the driveway, toys from the garage scattered all over the place, forbidden to go down any further towards the street. And it was HIS little boy, Timmy, here as sure as he had ever been. "Daddy, Daddy" the boy yelled as he spotted his father and ran to meet him. Paul dropped to a knee, partly out of weakness and partly out of shock. If he didn't take a knee then he surely was going to pass out. And then he reached out, out for his son who he had wept and cried for for so many days and nights. The boy who he was forced to have to bury and the anguish and pain from that that had almost killed him. He took him in his arms and embraced him tight. And he could breath again. His heart was now racing. Here was his boy and he was holding him again. "Son, I love you, I love you, I love you." He couldn't stop saying it to the boy. Tears ran down his face as he tried to keep from sobbing. "Daddy, whats wrong," the boy asked. "Nothing now son, nothing now." "I've missed you so much Timmy. I'm so sorry son. I'm sorry for not getting there in time." "Sorry for not getting where Daddy? You didn't do anything bad." "Your being Mr. Sillyman aren't you." "Yes son, I'm being Mr. Sillyman," and that brought a smile to Paul's face. He had forgotten about when he would tease and tickle his son and then blame it on "Mr. Sillyman". He wiped the tears away with the back of his hand. "Where's you mom?" "She's in the kitchen getting ready for tonight. She said you were supposed to be back a hour ago." "Well let me go tell her I'm here then. I'll see you in a little while. Okay?" Paul said as he stood and rubbed his hand through the boys hair. "Okay Daddy" and suddenly the toys had Timmy's interest again as Paul turned and headed to the back entrance of his home. "If Timmy's here then Sarah must be here as well" he thought to himself. It was time to find out.

Paul stood on the steps with his hand ready to wrap around the doorknob but yet not able to. He was mentality trying to prepare himself. He had not given any thought that for his son and wife he had only been gone for a few hours. Rick had picked up on the fact that he was wearing a coat in the middle of summer, how much more would his wife notice? He had given his self a quick look over after he slipped in the garage, out of the sight of his son. Everything he had on would be new to Sarah and he was sure it looked nothing like what he was wearing when he had left her earlier. And that brought up another question. Where had he gone? To run a errand? Pickup something at the store? Late home from work? He just didn't know (or remember, if this was truly his past). So he must be prepared for anything she might ask. And hadn't Timmy said something about her expecting him back a hour ago? Where ever he had gone, he was late returning. "Yeah, like four years late" he thought to himself. He quickly ruled out work. He would never forget the fire occurred on a Saturday night. Plus all his neighbors were out doing their Saturday rituals. Paul looked around and confirmed what he had noticed when he came in. His side of the garage where he parked his Lexus (gosh he loved that car) was bare. But yet it was totally destroyed in the fire. So that means that he had drove to where ever. Now Paul started wondering if maybe the old him was still here in this dimension. Why, what if he pulled up in the driveway while he was inside the house? He didn't know the rules of this place! "Stop it, just stop it!" he told himself. The one thing he DID know was that he was here. He would just have to make out the best he could. He would drive himself insane if he continued to try to make sense of all this. And then a small, thin smile appeared on his face. "How ironic," he thought. Here he was, about to more then likely see his dead wife once again and he's standing outside trying to get his story straight. Preparing a story to cover any question his wife might throw at him. Where have you been? Why are you late? What are you wearing? Why, it was just like the early days of their marriage when he still hadn't been able to completely drown out that youth driven desire to go hang out with the old college buddies every now and then. Always coming home late from those adventures and standing on these very steps doing just like he was doing now. Preparing his story. It was a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time. It was just like being married once again. "And here, now, I guess I am" he chuckled to himself. Well, he was about as prepared as he was going to get. He quickly slipped off his leather loafers and kicked them to the side. He pulled his sweater up and over his head and dropped it to the ground beside the steps. His white T shirt that he was wearing wouldn't arouse as much suspicion as a cardigan sweater would. And this time he let his hand wrap around the doorknob of his old house. He gave it a twist and with a click it was open. He gave the door a slight push and it slowly turned inward, revealing the laundry room with the coat rack and the dirty shoes and sneakers on the rug to the left. On the opposite wall was another doorway. That's the one that led into the kitchen and the rest of the house. And somewhere inside there was the love of his life whom he had cried for almost everyday since he had lost her that fateful night four years ago.

Paul quietly made his way into the room and just as quiet shut the door behind him. He didn't know why he was trying so hard to be quiet but he was felt that he should, he must. Why? He didn't know but inside he felt like he was sneaking. Sneaking into this house, sneaking into the past, afraid he might get caught or someone would see him and know somehow that he didn't belong here. That he was a stranger, or even a invader of some sort. And really after all, wasn't he? Now he was starting to feel panic build up inside of him. Sarah could always take one look at him and know when he was up to something. Or hiding something. Or even if something was wrong. He had never been able to lie to her about anything. As soon as he did she would give him that smirking smile of hers and start off by calling him by his full name, Paul Steven Jenkins. "You better tell me the truth!" she would tell him and he would. After awhile he knew better then to even try to fool her. "Relax man," he told himself. After a few more half steps he was across the utility room and standing in the doorway to the kitchen. And they she was. Tall, thin and beautiful, just like always. He could only stand there and gawk. Luckily, she had her head down and was totally focused on the big crystal bowl down on the counter in front of her. She was tossing a salad, most likely for the party tonight. As she did that she also hummed and Paul was completely entranced by the sound coming out of her. It seemed to touch his very being and it was like his whole body was recognizing something that it had once been one with. If there was ever anything like sensory overload then he knew he had to be close to it. Here was the woman that he had loved, had desired, had made love to. The woman that had been his wife and the mother of his child. All the panic and fear was gone. He was at total peace for the moment. A peace he hadn't known in a long, long time. Very softly at last he spoke. "Hello Sarah." Sarah gave a squeal and jumped. "Paul Jenkins! You almost gave me a heart attack! What are you trying to do!" she assailed him. "Babe, I'm sorry I scared you. I came in though the garage door. I'm sorry." Then he quickly closed the gape between them and took her in his arms. He pulled in tight into him and found her lips with his. And it was a taste like none other on the earth. Sweet as honey, pure as the innocence of a small child. Sarah pushed him back and gave him a half hearted slap on his chest. "What has gotten into you? He still had his hands locked around her waist and he refused to let her go. "I've missed you so much darling. You can't even imagine. Come on, kiss me babe." "Paul, in case you have forgotten, your son is outside playing and I have a ton of work to do before the get together tonight. And wait a minute, what are you wearing and where are the groceries you went to get. You had the list I had made for you. You should have been back a hour ago!" So that's it. It had been a run to the grocery store. Quickly his brain kicked in, just as he had rehearsed. "Sarah, you will never believe this but after I left the store and got out on 232 the car just died on me. I got it off to the side of the road and tried to get it to start but it just wouldn't. And of all things I didn't have my phone with me and I had no choice but to just lock it up and walk back. I knew I'd be hot and sweaty so I changed into these old clothes I had in the trunk so I wouldn't ruin my good clothes and left them their with the car. Unfortunately, I left the groceries on the back seat. Totally forgot them babe. Again, I'm sorry." "Not bad for a quick cover up," he thought. Now to see if she buys it. Paul stared at her with all the determination that he could that she must believe him. Sarah stared at him, looking deep into his eyes. She could always tell if he was being less then truthful with her but this time she saw something else in his eyes. It was something she had never seen before and it puzzled her. It was unlike anything she had ever seen but if she had to try to describe it then she would say it looked like his eyes were scarred. Still clean and honest and she could still see his love for her in them but there was something underneath the other stuff that was new to her. And out of the blue a chill came up from below her and traveled up her spine, causing her to shiver and pop out a few goose bumps along her arms. "Well, okay then. Do you want to call someone to go and tow your car to a mechanic?" she asked him. "She's buying it" he thought. "Good, I did better then I thought I would." "I'll call someone in a little while. But I feel bad about the groceries. I'm sure their no good by now. Do you want me to see if Rick or somebody will give me a ride back in town and get you some more?" asked Paul. "No, I'll call Linda and she can stop and pick them up on her way home from the office. She had to go in for a few hours this afternoon and she had to stop to the store anyway. That's okay hon. We women are always able to improvise" said Sarah as she returned her husbands grasp and this time it was her that was seeking out her husbands lips and he was eager to assist and they stood there and kissed oh so passionately and loving until Sarah had to push him back again and this time she was flustered and disheveled. A stirring had starting from those kisses and there was no reason not to believe her husband. Yes, he looked a little different and he looked tired but the poor guy had just walked five, maybe even six miles, to get back home. "Darling, save that energy for after the party tonight. In the meantime why don't you run upstairs and get a cold shower and cool that engine down. Our guests will be arriving soon my dear" Sarah told him, softly and seductively. "Okay baby, I will and you just be ready for later tonight. And Sarah, I love you so much. You don't know how much I've missed you." And then that sixth sense that Sarah seemed to possess kicked in and immediately Paul knew he had misspoke. Sarah gave a slight nod to the side and asked "What do you mean you've missed me?" And Paul suddenly froze, his brain not able to work as fast as before. He had almost made a mistake. He quickly tried to recover. "I mean I was missing you as I walked my tail off for what seemed to be hours to get back here. It made me realize how much I hated being apart from you babe." "Awwww honey, your the best. I love you!" "Sheew" thought Paul. "Dodged a bullet on that one" "Your right Sarah. I'm going to go upstairs and get cleaned up and get ready. Do you need anything before I go up?" "No dear, I'm good" answered Sarah. "Okay, see you shortly." And with that Paul released his wife and turned to head upstairs. He had a party to get ready for and a fire to prevent. Time to get moving.

Bus Stop 6691. A Party to Remember

 Normally Paul Jenkins was just like every other guy. Quick to get ready. No primping necessary. But not this time. Not this day. He had taken a very long shower. A long, hot and steamy shower. As the hot water fell on him his muscles started to relax and all the tension that had been building up since he got out of that cab a few hours ago to see if what the old man had told him was true began to fall away. He tried to mentally prepare himself for tonight. He was going to see old friends that he hadn't seen in years. Most of them he hadn't seen since this night. So he must stay calm. He couldn't show surprise. Since the fire and the tragedy he had forgotten about all the little things about his home that he loved. The Italian tiled shower with the massaging shower head. The heated towel rack that warmed your towel as you showered. His old boar bristle hairbrush that he loved running through his hair. All his old clothes that were hanging in the walk in closet. He had picked out a pair of well worn khakis and a navy polo. He slipped on his old Sperry boat shoes and Bam! He looked just like the Paul of old. He had only been downstairs for a few minutes before the doorbell rang and he ran to open the door. He knew it was early and he knew it would be Ronnie and Carol. They were always early. Always the first to arrive. "Hey bud! Whats going on?" asked Ronnie as he faked a punch to Paul's mid section, then grabbed him and pulled him against his chest while giving him a couple manly slaps on his back. "Not much you big goofball" while he delivered a few slaps back. Ronnie and Carol Anderson's story was much like Sarah's and his. Met in college, started dating, fell in love and soon married after graduation. Carol sighed before she said "Hey Paul, how you"? "I"m good Carol, please come on in"."Try not to bruise each other up to bad. I'm going in the kitchen to see if I can help Sarah out. Ronnie, take Paul out with you and bring the food inside will ya"? "Yes dear," Ronnie answered with some pretend sarcasm in his voice. "Come on Paul, give me a hand". "You got it my friend! And Ronnie, it's really good to see you and Carol again". "Ha! We will see if you have that same attitude tonight around 10 when you have to kick us out of the door to get us to leave! You know how those women love to talk". Then it was Paul's turn to give Ronnie a big slap on the back as he grinned sheepishly at his old college friend.

Just as they were finishing up unloading Ronnie and Carols car, Jack and Sandy Thompson from next door walked over. They of course had to walk all the way down their driveway and then back up Paul and Sarah's because of the illegal fence they had installed but today Paul couldn't have cared less  about such trivial things. Jack was carrying a couple big bottles of fine Tennessee whiskey and Sandy had a huge serving platter with something very big and apparently heavy as well on it under the foil judging by her crinkled up nose and faint sounding strains. "Jack, Sandy come on in. Sandy, please let me have that." "You wont have to ask me twice Paul. How are you doing?" she asked before planting a obligatory kiss on his cheek. "I'm good Sandy thanks, it's always a pleasure." Sandy looked over at Ronnie. "Hey Ronnie, how are ya"? "I'm good Sandy. I hope you two are as well". "We are. Carols inside?" Sandy asked. "Yeah, shes in the kitchen helping Sarah. She'll be glad to see you two. It's been a while now". "Yeah, if you only knew how long," Paul thought to himself. This was another memory he hadn't thought of much since the fire. Once a month they would have these big get togethers and they all always took turns hosting them. Mostly it was people from the neighborhood but whoever was hosting that month always asked a few friends that were special to them and most of those friends became monthly guests and even took their turns playing host. Hence the Anderson's. They were good people and everyone liked them. "By gosh, what do you have on this plate Sandy?" "Its a ham and a very big one at that. I don't want to run out like last month so I made sure I got one this time that was big enough." "I think you succeeded," and they all four got a good laugh out of that. "Sandy, open that door and lets get this hog inside," and they all laughed even harder at that.

Soon it was a endless parade of people coming in the door. Rick and Diane Bernstein. Rick was right, Diane had brought a nice surprise.  A case of French shiraz wine. Very expensive and very good. David and Ellen Harkins. David had supposedly gave him the coat he was wearing when he came back to this world. Paul secretly hoped to himself that Rick wouldn't ask him about it. Karen and Tom Chambers. The Adkins. Steve and Jan Cummings, also friends from their old college days. And finally the two who made everyone cringe slightly when they arrived. Carl and Ellen Deming's from down the street. Carl was the the owner of the trashcan where Paul had trashed his coat. Hopefully Carl or Ellen hadn't seen him do it. Carl had to always be the loudest in the group. Anything anyone had done he had done it bigger and better. He was cocky and demanding. And he had a nasty cigar habit, which was good  because of the fact that it kept him outside for a good part of the evening when ever they all gathered together. Occasionally they couldn't make the monthly get togethers and everyone was happy when they couldn't. Alas, this wasn't one of those times.

Two hours later and the party was in full swing. Plates of food devoured. Drink glasses filled. The women were working on the wine pretty good. When their glasses emptied if wasn't long before they were full again. The men stuck with iced down beers and a few mixed drinks here and there. Rick, who had actually worked as a bartender to help pay his way through college, was the one always appointed to be the mix master. While he mixed and the guys imbibed, Carl Demings talked. And talked. And talked. He moaned about the homeowners association and it's lack of enforcement of the neighborhood rules. He complained about his property value being drove into the ground by the un kept yards of his neighbors. He bitched about the government and his plummeting 401K. While he ranted the smokers in the group decided it would be a good time to slip outside and have a smoke. If to many of his audience decided to do this at one time Carl would follow and light up his stogie while continuing on his rant of the moment. Paul would even join them when they would step outside for their light up rituals. Almost every guy in this group was a smoker or a ex smoker. When the smokers lit up the non smokers would ask to bum one and for that night at least, they were smokers as well. "That's what alcohol tends to do to people I guess," Paul thought to himself. He knew he had to attempt to make that commitment to quit soon also but for now, he was good. As he finished his cigarette and Carl started a new topic to talk about Paul excused himself from the group of men. The air was getting chilly and a breeze had kicked up. He knew his son had gone to bed a little while ago and Paul was determined that he was going to slip up and kiss him goodnight and tuck him in before he went to sleep. This was, after all, the last night he had seen his son alive.

Paul turned the doorknob and entered Timmy's room. "Hey dad." "Hey son, I wanted to come up and tuck you in and say goodnight. Did you get enough to eat?" "Yeah, I did. I would have stayed down longer but Mr. Demings talks to loud and makes my head hurt." Paul laughed at that. "Well sonny boy, don't feel bad. He makes my head hurt to! And if you were to ask the other guys down there they would all say the same thing!" "Really dad?" "Yes, really son. What are you reading?" "It's a book about dinosaurs and what they looked like back when they were alive. Did you ever see a dinosaur daddy?" "Uhhh, no I never did Timmy. "Come on, I'm not THAT old," Paul said with a big grin forming on his face. "Almost, but not quite," he said as he rubbed his hand through his sons blondish hair. The boy smiled back to him. "Okay Dad, I believe you." "Listen son, it's getting late and you need to get to sleep." Suddenly out of no where a memory came to him. Tomorrow was Sunday. And one of Timmy's friends from school was having a birthday party and Timmy was invited. Was the kids name Billy? Or maybe Joey? He couldn't remember. How in the world did he ever remember that about the party? "Hey son, remember that you have that birthday party tomorrow afternoon?" "Oh yeah dad! I had forgot about that!" "Who's the party for son, I forgot," Paul asked." "It's for my best friend Devin from school. All my friends from school are supposed to be there. I can't wait! I'm still going right?" Paul paused for a second before he could answer. Four years ago, he was suppose  to go but unfortunately, he didn't make it. Didn't make anything actually after this night. And that made Paul more determined then ever. Determined that his son and wife WOULD wake up tomorrow and would attend that birthday party. There would be a tomorrow and a next day and a day after that. That old man had given him another chance and that old rusty bus had brought him here. This time things would end differently. "Yes son, you are still going. Matter of fact, I will do everything in my power to make sure your at that party. Okay?" "Thanks dad, I love you." "I love you son, turn that light off and get to sleep. I'll see you in the morning." "Okay, goodnight dad." "Goodnight Timmy," and Paul got up and left his son to enter the world of sleep and happy dreams.

Paul slipped down the stairs and entered the kitchen. Sarah and her friends were still going strong.
Empty wine bottles littered the counter top and the women were showing no signs of letting up. "Hey babe," Paul said to Sarah as he slipped his arm around her slender waist. "Hey babe, we were just talking about you. Get in here you big handsome thing you!" and the women all cheered as Paul blushed. "It was all good talk I hope," he answered back. "Nothing but the best baby," as she reached her face back and kissed her husband. "You woman are to much for me. I'm going back outside to join my fellow comrades. Girls, don't talk about us to bad. Remember, we love you." This brought new laughter from the women as Paul flashed a big smile and made his exit.

The big living room was empty. "Hum, guess they are all still outside," Paul thought to himself. And why not. The boys were getting pretty juiced up. The ritual was pretty much drink, bathroom and smoke. Why not just hang out outside and save one of the steps. Outside one can smoke AND drink at the same time. Paul crossed the room and opened the big front door to join his buddies. "Hey guys, I'm back," he said to absolutely no one. The front lawn was empty. Nothing out here except darkness and a few dried, dead leaves riding the breeze that was swirling around the yard. A feeling of unease started building slowly inside the bottom of his stomach. Why, he didn't know. Nothing out of order here. If his friends weren't here then that only meant they were somewhere else. Laughing, drinking, carrying on. But something didn't feel right. It was almost like some kind of internal alarm sounding. Like being on the verge of discovering some thing dreadful. "But what is it," he wondered to himself. "This is stupid. They all probably went out through the garage and are around back. I'm out here giving myself the creeps for nothing." He laughed it off (or tried to) and started towards the driveway and the garage. As he crossed the driveway and turned the corner he was surprised to see the garage door still down. "That's odd. That means they went out the back door that led out to the patio and backyard," he mulled over to himself. And then he heard Carl. Loud, obnoxious, overbearing Carl. Ranting on again over yet another stupid topic that no one really cared about except him. Same old Carl. Always talking, always blabbing on about something. But Carl sounded funny. It was clearly him. But his voice sounded muffled. If it had been anyone else talking Paul would have had to really strain his ears to hear them. Only because it was Carl doing the talking did he know that he was close by but where? He walked slowly along the edge of the closed garage, slinking along in the shadows. As he got close to the end he paused. He could hear Carl a little clearer now and he also heard Rick and some of the others joining in on the conversation as well. That feeling of dread that had been building inside of him since he had walked out the front door was about to explode now. He knew he was about to find the answer to what had happened. How, he didn't know but the fact was cold and grasping him and wouldn't let go of him. With his skin cold and clammy he stuck his head out from the shadows and looked around the house. Just as he knew it would be, the backyard was empty. The only thing that was back there was more darkness and that same breeze. Only now the breeze had taken a threatening tone and instead of sounding calm and gentle it was rushing around and not blowing but hissing! Teasing and taunting him. Daring him to come and see. But there was nothing to see except darkness and shadows. The only light back here was the light coming out from the sliding glass doors that led from the kitchen out to the deck area. In that light he could see the shadows of the women moving back and forth as the enjoyed themselves inside. And there was light coming from the utility room window. The room to the left as soon as you came in from the garage. Paul came around the corner to get a better look at that window. It was up! And he could hear the voices much clearer back here. He could place Ronnie's voice. Then Jack saying something. Carl of course. Him above all the others. There was Rick asking someone if they were ready for a refill. And was that Carl's cigar he could smell? Paul quietly walked along the wall until he was beside the open window. Being cautious so he wouldn't be seen he peered inside the room. Sure enough, all the guys had taken up residency here, in this room. Glasses of booze in one hand, a cigarette in the other. "I guess it was to much effort to walk outside to light up," he thought to himself. Then the next thing he saw knocked the wind out of him like a pop warner football player getting hit by the older, bigger kid who shouldn't have been allowed to be on the team. Laying on top of the washing machine was a smoke detector. A quick glance up and he saw where the detector had been. Where it was suppose to be. And now nothing was in the spot except bare ended wires hanging down out of the ceiling. Suddenly, it all made sense. This is where the fire had started. Hadn't the police report stated that the fire had started back in this area of the house? Yes it had! And now it all made sense. The disconnected smoke detector. Shouldn't the others ones have worked even though this one was disabled? Paul thought he had read that they will but he wasn't sure. Apparently they don't or at least his didn't. For some reason his system didn't respond at all. Hence him waking up from his sound slumber after it was to late. He was jarred from his thoughts when Steve started speaking. "Come on, we better get out of here before Paul catches us in here. He'll be downstairs soon and he'll be upset if he finds us in here." "Agreed!" was the reaction from the group. Except for Carl. "He'll be okay. Heck, he doesn't have a problem smoking in my house." Tom was the next one to speak up. "Come on Carl. You know him and Sarah don't want us smoking in their house. Probably because of the boy. Lets get out of here." "Okay, your right. Let's go. Lets get these glasses and bottles and move to a more suitable area," agreed the man who normally argued with everyone about everything. Ronnie grabbed the glass that they had been using as a ashtray and then asked them "We need to put that smoke detector back up there don't we?" "Leave it for now. Lets make sure the smoke clears out first and we'll get it later. That and the window. We'll just close the door behind us to let it air out until then," answered Carl. And the next thing Paul saw sickened him to his core. Carl laid his cigar on the edge of the dryer so he could grab his empty glass and one of the bottles of booze and followed the guys out of the room. Jack, it looked like, pulled the door shut behind him and the breeze of the closing door blew over the still lit stogie that was balanced over the edge of the dryer and the space between it and the wall. The cigar rocked back and forth on that edge for a second and then took the fateful fall down into the narrow gap and was gone. Carl, in his drunkenness, had forgotten all about it. Rage begin to replace the dread and anxiety he had been experiencing only moments ago. Anger as the realization of what happened that night played out in front of his eyes. Of course they had never gone back in to replace that smoke detector or to close the window. It was forgotten soon after they had left the room. And he had never gone in that room before falling asleep of the sofa after the party. The cigar had lay on the floor and smoldered until a flame was born and that flame grew and keep growing as it consumed that room and then moved up upwards to the ceiling. The ceiling which was directly below his sleeping son's bedroom. That's when the rage and the anger took over. Not caring about being seen anymore, not caring about anything anymore, he flipped up the cover of the garage door keypad and jammed the numbers that made up the code to raise the door. (Amazing, he remembered it was 6 4 3 8 2 1). As soon as the door was high enough that he could duck under he dashed in and made his way to the entrance door to the house. He turned the door handle and flew into the foyer area and barely broke his stride. The utility room door was shut, just as they had left it. Paul ran over and flung open the door and ran inside. He quickly ran over to where the dryer was (and the cigar had been) and dropped down to his hands and knees. He peered underneath the machine and there it was. Lit end down on the floor. The body held up by the wall and the side of the dryer. Small lisps of smoke already gently floating up from the lint on the floor and the linoleum starting to darken. He tried to reach back and discovered his hand was to big to get through the small gap. He jumped up and ran over and retrieved a metal coat hanger from the clothes rack by the wall and quickly untwisted the wire hanger. Pulling it out straight he ran it down the gap and knocked the smoldering cigar over on it's side and then out from beside the dryer. Paul stared down at the thing with horror and shock, like he was looking at pictures of a victim of a grisly murder. Then something inside of him took over and he began to stomp the thing that had taken the life of his wife and son and his you might as well say. His leg moved up and down with a fierce velocity until the only thing left of the murderous object was a sad pile of spent tobacco and the paper that had once held the thing together. As his leg slowed and came to a stop he slowly raised his head and looked at the open door that led to the foyer. Still seething with anger and still trying to piece together what had just happened he headed towards and out that door and into the foyer. He pulled open the door that led out into the living room and stormed in. The ladies had left the kitchen area and had joined the men in the living room. All conversation ceased as they saw the man they once knew as Paul Jenkins come striding across the room staring with a cold and calculated look that scared them all. His eyes burned as if they were on fire. His full attention was solely on Carl who was leaning against the far wall with a fresh gin and tonic and telling yet another story. The story ended abruptly as he saw Paul bounding towards him.  It was Sarah who spoke first. "Honey, whats wrong? Are you oka....." and that's all she got out before he screamed and pounced on his neighbor whom he had never liked and actually down right despised. "You killed my wife and son you S.O.B!" he screamed at the suddenly terrified man as he grabbed him and then started to plummet him with fists that held four years of pain and remorse. The drink went flying and shattered when it hit the wall.  Blood spurted from Carl Demings nose as it took it's turn shattering. Obscenities spewed out of Paul as he continued to reign down blow after blow. None of the others could move. They were to stunned and couldn't take in what they were seeing. Ronnie was the first one who snapped out of it and grabbed his old buddy. "Paul, stop it! What are you doing?" Paul seemed to not hear as the rage continued to flow from him. Good old Carl for once in his miserable life wasn't talking. His face was getting a pretty good makeover. He was not going to be a pretty sight in the morning. Soon the women started screaming. Sarah was the first one to move and ran to his side. "Paul! Quit it! Please!" Ellen was the next one beside him. "Get off my husband you animal! I'm going to call the police!" Soon after, the men regained their senses and wrestled Paul off the bloody, beaten man. It took all seven of them to pull him off and they had their hands full doing it. Paul was like a wild man. Ellen was kneeling down next to her husband, crying and cursing at Paul for what he had done. Steve Cummings, his old pal from college, slapped Paul across the face to try to calm him it down. It worked. Paul's breathing started to slow and made a attempt to return to normal. The anger and the rage was dying down. The men eased their grip on their friend. The women ran over to comfort Ellen who was still on the floor beside her husband crying. Diane ran to the downstairs bathroom to get a towel to try to soak up the blood from Carl's broken and shapeless nose. Now it was Sarah's turn to scream at Paul. "What's wrong with you? What did he do?" Hearing Sarah's voice seemed to jar him back to reality. His friends were looking at him like he was a alien or something worse. Sarah was crying. The women looked scared to death. His neighbor lay on the floor broken and bleeding. "I'm, I'm sorry. You all don't understand. He, he caused a terrible thing to happen and I can't explain it or you all will think I'm crazy." But by the looks on every ones faces they already thought that. And why not think that? He had just beat his neighbor half to death in front of all of them, pretty insane thing to do huh? It was Tom that spoke up next. "What did you mean when you said he killed your wife and son? That doesn't make any sense Paul." His mind raced for the right words. He didn't think telling the truth would be a good thing to do at this moment. Would they believe that this night was a rerun of a night four years ago? That their careless actions had caused a fire that claimed the life of his wife and son? That their deaths had almost killed him as well and for all accounts they pretty much did. And he bet they would just love the part about the old man who he ran into and had told him about the old bus stop where people could go back to fix things that needed fixing. They would love hearing about that bus that arrived to pick him up and bring him back here. The ghostly figure that drove that bus and how he was suppose to be meeting that bus in a few more hours to ride back to where he came from? No, he didn't think it would be a good time to tell the truth. It would be better to try to smooth this mishap over in a way that didn't result in him being carried away in a straitjacket by professionals in white uniforms. "Look, I'm sorry everyone. I went outside looking for you guys and I saw you all in the utility room through the window. I saw Carl's cigar fall down by the dryer and when I went in to check it out it was on the floor still smoldering and I freaked out. What I meant to say was he COULD have killed my wife and son. That's all. I overreacted. I'm sorry. Carl, Ellen, please forgive me." He started towards his neighbors but they reacted as could be expected. "Get away from us! Your crazy! You will be hearing from our lawyer about this and you'll be darn lucky if not also the police! Don't ever come near us again you lunatic!" Ellen shouted at him. She and some of the women had helped Carl to his feet and he was holding the once white towel against his face. The towel was mostly red now, bloody red. His left eye sported quite a shiner. It would be at least a week before that would start to fade. "Paul Jenkins I'll get you for this. I'm going to sue you for every dime you have." Carl managed to say through his swollen and cut lips. Paul suppressed the anger that was starting to build again. This man was responsible for the death of his wife and son but he had to control himself. He had been able to stop the fire from happening and that was the important part. His wife and son were safe. "Go to your doctor and let me have the bill. I'll take care of it. And another thing, when you speak to your attorney make sure you tell them the part about you almost burning down my house because of your reckless negligence. I think that's the term they like to use." "Come on Ellen, lets go." The two started towards the door. Sarah walked with them. "I'm so sorry you two. I'll get your platter back to you soon Ellen." "Keep it and please, just leave us alone," she answered back. "And try to get that man some help," she added as they made their way out the door. After she closed the door she turned back to the remaining party goers. Suddenly no one looked like they were in the partying mood. The night had soured. Jack and Sandy were the next ones to speak up. "Well, it's getting late. We better be going also." Tom and Karen agreed with the Thompson's. They had to be getting home also. "Hey look everybody, again, I'm sorry. I was completely out of control."  A few of them muttered some that's okays but they did it half heartily. Rick put his hand on his friends shoulder and leaned towards him. "You sure your okay buddy?""Yeah, I'm okay. Thanks," he answered back. "Hey," Rick said to him in a low voice so no one else could hear. "Good for you! I never liked that bastard anyway." Paul got a laugh out of that. "Leave it to you Rick. Thank you." "Your welcome my friend and if you need anything you know I'm right here. By the look on Diane's face I'm sure we are going to be the next ones to leave. Good luck with the little lady tonight," and with that he gave Paul a big grin. "Thanks again Rick." "You got it my friend. Diane, you ready? Lets go babe." They joined the rest of the people gathering up their belongs and making their way out of the house. The women all gave Sarah a hug and a kiss on their way out. The men gave Paul a nod and a thank you to Sarah. Steve and Jan were the last ones out of the door. "Are you sure you don't want any help cleaning up," Jan asked her friend. "No, we got it. Thanks for coming and I'm sorry tonight ended like this." "Don't worry about it Sarah. Everything will be good." "Yeah, it will all be good," Paul thought to himself. "Now it will be." Sarah closed the door behind the Cummings. Immediately she turned around to face her husband. "We need to talk." And Paul was so happy to be here to be able to talk.

     Next up is the conclusion of Bus Stop 6691