Want and need,
To be, indeed,
Not just in a while,
Or by a mile.
Feel and think
Upon the brink
The point at which
There is no switch.
Need and want
Tease and taunt
The heart and soul,
Both know the goal.
They both react
And make a pact.
To act with care
To be aware.
Friday, September 19, 2014
Short Tribute to Minecraft
Minecraft
Blocks, all.
The land, the trees and life.
Cubed creations in a right angle world.
Breaking, building, battling
The blocky villains
Who share the dream-scape
Crafted in 16 by 16 per side.
Blocks, all.
The land, the trees and life.
Cubed creations in a right angle world.
Breaking, building, battling
The blocky villains
Who share the dream-scape
Crafted in 16 by 16 per side.
Saturday, August 9, 2014
Jordan the Bear: Part One
There
was a sad and lonely girl on Devyn Street, who needed a friend more
than anything else. Her name was Lauren.
Little
Lauren cried every night after prayers and lights out. She prayed
that the good Lord would send to her a good and loyal friend, one
that would never leave her, even in the worst of times.
“Please
send me a friend,” Lauren prayed, “and I promise I'll be a good
girl.”
One
night, before bed, Lauren noticed something sitting on her bed; a
teddy bear, tan with shades of brown, with a stitched nose and beady
eyes. She ran to her bed for a closer look. There was a handwritten
note with the bear, which read, “Your new friend. Jordan is his
name. He is yours forever.”
Lauren
hugged the teddy bear close to her. “I have a friend.” she said.
“I'll never let you go.”
For
years, Lauren and Jordan were inseparable. They did everything
together, from morning to night, everyday. In the morning, they would
get up from bed and tidy their room. Lauren would share her breakfast
with Jordan, then let him him use half the crayons and the paper for
their play time. After lunch, Lauren and Jordan would both use the
mat for their nap time. When Daddy came home from work, Lauren made
sure he also greeted Jordan.
On
the first day of school, Lauren took Jordan with her. The teacher
told Lauren, “I'll let you carry your doll this time, but from now
on, it will have to stay at home. School's for people, not dolls.”
Lauren
protested. “He's not a doll; he's my best friend in the whole, wide
world.”
The
next day, Lauren cried at school. She was not allowed to bring Jordan
with her. “I want my Jordan.” she told her teacher. “This isn't
fair.”
The
teacher sat Lauren down. “You may not have Jordan now, but when you
get home, he will be waiting for you. While you and he are apart, why
don't you tell your fellow classmates about you good friend? We can
even draw pictures and write stories about Jordan. When the day is
over, you can tell him all about your day, and show him the pictures.
I bet he would love that.”
“You
think so?” Lauren asked.
“Why
don't we give it a try?” Teacher took Lauren to the table with the
rest of her classmates.
They
all painted, drew and shared stories about their best friends. Lauren
learned that she was not the only one who had someone special waiting
at home. Many of her fellow classmates also had friends they could
not bring to class; dogs, cats, fish and other assorted pets. She
stopped crying and learned to have fun instead.
When
she got home, she ran to her room, with her drawings in hand. She
spent the rest of the night telling
Jordan about her day. Every day,
after school, she would tell Jordan everything first, then tell her
parents at the dinner table about her day.
“You
won't believe what happened at school today...”
As
the years progressed, Lauren's connection to Jordan deepened. She
turned to him as a safe haven, a solid rock in the turbulent ocean of
life. Jordan was there for her when she broke a tooth, when she fell
of her bike, when she got in trouble at school, and when she came
home crying from the insults her fellow students threw in her
direction. Jordan was there for her when she fell ill, or felt
terrible. Jordan comforted Lauren when her Grandma died from the
cancer, and when her family moved away from everyone she knew.
Jordan
rocked Lauren to sleep after the difficult, cross-country move, and
during the transition to Lauren's new schools, first middle, and then
high. She held onto him tightly after her first crush, Bradley,
humiliated her in front of the whole sophomore class.
She
whispered into Jordan's soft and fluffy ear, “I know you'll never
call me such horrible names, my friend. You know I'm not what Bradley
said I am.”
Lauren's
problems with the bully Bradley did not end there.
As
high school wore on, Lauren withdrew from her so-called friends, even
from her parents at times. No matter how withdrawn she became, Lauren
would still tell Jordan every thought, every fear and every feeling.
When
the seniors were told to bring with them one thing that they value
most in the world and present it in-class, Lauren did not hesitate to
bring Jordan with her. It would be the first time she would bring him
to school since that one day in Kindergarten.
She
held Jordan close to her. “I want to show the Bradleys of the world
that you are my best friend, now and forever.”
Some
students stopped and stared at Lauren as she walked by with Jordan in
her arms. Some pointed, others chuckled. She did not care what they
thought of her or her best friend.
“I'm
sure some of them will understand.” Lauren assured herself. “They
can't have all forgotten the importance of a soul mate.”
At
lunch, Lauren sat at the table reserved for the loners, her usual
space in the hall. She placed Jordan in the seat next to her. It was
the first time she had let go of her friend. Had she seen Bradley
only feet behind her, she would have held tightly onto Jordan, for
both their sakes. By the time she saw Bradley and his obnoxiously
orange shirt, it was too late.
“What's
this?” Bradley asked. “Is he your boyfriend?”
Bradley
grabbed Jordan before Lauren could react. “Hey,” Lauren shouted,
“put him back.”
“Him?”
Bradley shook his head. “You think this thing is alive, do you?”
“He's
more alive than you are.”
“Oh
yeah?” Bradley whipped out a pocket knife. “We'll see about
that.”
He
stuck the edge of the blade into Jordan's chest, near the left arm.
Lauren gasped in terror. “No.”
“I
don't hear any screaming.” Bradley laughed. “I guess he isn't so
alive after all.”
“Give
him back.” Lauren cried. “He's my friend.”
“You
mean ex.” Bradley pulled the knife down, slicing through Jordan's
stomach and all the down to his stubby legs. His stuffing protruded
from the gaping wound. Some of it fell on the linoleum flooring.
Lauren
could not believe what had happened before her eyes. She knelt on the
floor to collect her friend's cottony innards. “Please let him go.”
she begged Bradley. “You have no idea how much he means to me.”
“You
want him back?” he asked. “Then you're going to have to do
something for me.”
“No.”
she cried. “Just give me back my Jordan.”
“Not
until I get what I want.” Bradley said. “I'll see you after
school, in the gym. No one else will be in there. We'll be alone. No
pain, no gain. Be there or your buddy bites it.”
Lauren
wanted to run home, and leave the school forever. She wanted to hit
Bradley, and teach him a lesson, but she also wanted Jordan back.
She
could not concentrate on her next class. She wondered what she would
do for her in-class presentation, with Jordan in the hands of the
enemy. She felt terrible. Jordan had long protected he, though she
failed to protect him.
“Wherever
you are,” Lauren thought to her self, “I hope you will take care
of yourself, my friend.”
She
prayed to the Good Lord. “Lord, help Jordan. Let him return to me
safe and sound, and I promise I'll be a good girl.”
Lauren
walked slowly toward the classroom, where she and her fellow
classmates were to present their items. She noticed a large crowd at
the head of the class. They were all inspecting something which was
on the tables, which had been set-up for the presentation.
One
of the students noticed Lauren and motioned to her. “Come up here
and take a look at this cute thing.”
Lauren
walked up. She nearly fainted when she saw Jordan on the table. He
looked as good as the day Lauren had gotten him, so many years
before. There was no visible sign of the place he had been sliced so
cruelly by Bradley, except for a discoloration in the fabric where
the cut had been. Lauren seized Jordan and hugged him tightly.
“I
thought I'd never see you again.” she said. “I'll never let you
go.”
The
teacher walked in and told everyone to sit down. “I was hoping to
have all the seniors here for this presentation.” the teacher said.
“But unfortunately Bradley won't be with us today. As some of you
may have heard, he had an accident with a pocket knife. This is why
we don't allow students to have weapons on campus. It's too easy for
someone to get hurt, and he did. He cut himself from below the left
arm all the way down to his leg. He'll miss graduation, and all other
ceremonies, just because he was disobeying rules. He'll be fine,
though, since the injures were minor; just a scratch and a ruined
shirt. They could have been a lot worse, though.”
Lauren
looked at the discoloration on Jordan once more. She noticed that
Jordan had been expertly repaired, that the cut was sealed with a
single thread, with an obnoxiously orange hue to it.
Lauren
smiled. “That color looks much better on you than it did on
Bradley.”
Saturday, May 17, 2014
The Duke of Denison
There
was a man in the town of Denison by the name of Vernon C. DeFranco.
He was a shy and unimposing figure, no taller than five feet, with
pale skin and deep-set eyes. He worked at the local market, doing
whatever the manager asked him to do.
On
his free time, Vernon would take his easel and paint the town in oils
and bright pigments. He would donate the paintings to the library,
and allow them to sell the paintings to help draw in some much-needed
money into their coffers. Denison's main square proved to be Vernon's
biggest inspiration. He would sit a the same corner every off day and
paint what he saw in front of him.
The
local townsfolk took to calling Vernon the “Duke of Denison,” for
his paintings spurred a renewed interest in town pride. The merchants
often cleaned and decorated their storefronts. They hoped their
places of business would show well in Vernon's paintings.
One
evening, Vernon was painting the band stand in the grassy knoll when
a man in a grey flannel suit strolled up behind him.
“I
see you are painting, young man.” the suited stranger said.
“Yes,
sir.” Vernon said, not taking his eyes off the canvas in front of
him.
“I
hear you paint a lot,” the stranger said, “and that you give your
paintings away for charity.”
“I
do what I can.”
“Well,
you are making a terrible mistake.”
Vernon
stopped mid-stroke. “Excuse me?” he asked.
“You
heard me. You are wasting your talents, giving your paintings away
like that.” The man handed Vernon a business card. “My name is
Ebeneezer Gulch, and I am a talent scout. Believe me, I know talent
when I see some, and you've got talent! Talent like yours should be
making lots of money. I believe your name is Vernon De Franco, is
that right?”
“Yes,
sir.”
“Well,
Vernon, here's my card.”
Vernon
took the card, set it on his easel, “Well, thanks for the
compliment. I just paint what I see, and if it can help people
somehow, then that's what I want to do. I have to get back to this
painting, if you don't mind. I'm running low on green, and I don't
want my paints to dry.”
Vernon
returned to his painting. Mr. Gulch stood there for a moment before
tapping Vernon on the shoulder. Vernon stopped his work and turned
around.
“Can
I help you?” Vernon asked.
“You
can't help me,” Gulch replied, “but I can help you. I can make
you rich and famous. I can put your artwork all over the word, in the
finest art museums and in the houses of all the rich and famous. I
can make you a star, and you'd never have to worry about running out
of anything ever again, especially anything green. Heck, with the
money you could be making, you could buy this town a whole new
library.”
Before
Mr. Gulch left, he said, “You better call me. Your future, and your
town's future, may just depend on it.”
Vernon
finished his painting, packed up his equipment and went home. He
lived in a one bedroom flat above the store. He placed the newest
artwork on the kitchen table and set to making his supper. As he put
his paints away, Mr. Gulch's card fell out. Vernon picked up the
card, and was about to throw it away when he recalled Mr. Gulch's
words; “you could buy this town a whole new library.”
Vernon
pocketed the card. He would make the call in the morning. He hoped he
would not live to regret it.
The
morning arrived with plenty of rain to spare. The clouds kept Denison
in the dark, and fairly well soaked, to boot.
Vernon
packed his art materials away for the day. The rain did not agree
with his paints. He recovered Mr. Gulch's card and read it again:
“Mr. Ebeneezer Gulch, Talent Scout Extraordinaire.” Vernon took
the card to the pay phone in the hallway. The call would set him back
a dime, but he hoped it would be worth the cost.
A
lady answered on the third ring. “Good morning. Brandenburg
Building. How can I direct your call?”
“I'm
looking for a Mr. Gulch.”
“Okay.
I'm redirecting you to his office. Thank you.”
The
operator put Vernon on hold as he was transferred to Gulch's office.
Mr. Gulch answered on the fifth ring.
“You've
reached Mr. Gulch, world's finest talent scout. How may I be of
service?”
“Hello,
sir. This is Vernon DeFranco. We spoke yesterday...”
“Oh,”
Mr. Gulch interrupted, “you're the artist in the park, the one I
met yesterday? Fine work you do, really easy on the eyes.”
“Thank
you.” Vernon said.
“It's
a good thing you called, Vern. Mind if I call you Vern? Well, anyway,
I have an art show in a week, and I need to submit a few pieces. None
of my regular artists can submit their work this time around, and I
was wondering if you wouldn't mind stepping up to the plate and
hitting this one out of the park?”
“What
do I need to do?”
“I
need three pieces. They have to be chronological and set in one
place, like a church. They want morning, noon and evening. That's the
requirements. If you can have them ready in three days, I'll pick
them up and take them to this art show.”
“And
how much will be paid for these works?”
“We'll
talk turkey when the bird is cooked.” Mr. Gulch said. “This art
show is to get your name into the limelight, not to make a whole
bunch of dough. You need to be well-known to make the good money.”
“And
this will help get my name out there, so I can make the big money?”
“Oh
absolutely. You can trust me on this! So what do you say? Do we have
an agreement?”
“I
suppose... sure. I can do this.”
“Excellent.
I'll be there in three days, at around noon. Be ready.”
Mr.
Gulch hung up the phone. Vernon hung up the pay phone and returned to
his room. Although he appreciated having his artwork out there for
more to see, something about the whole situation felt as sticky as
the weather outside his window. He could not figure out why. He had
not time to waste on feelings; he had some art to make. He unpacked
his art materials and set out for the downtown district. If they
wanted a church, he would paint for them his church, which he
attended at least once a week. The church of Saint Peter Nolasco on
Victoria Avenue was his home away from home, though he had never
tried to paint it before. While there, he would pray for the
painting's success, not for his own benefit, but for the good of the
town. He only hoped Mr. Gulch would be true to his word.
The
Church of Saint Peter Nolasco was virtually empty that morning, with
the exception of one old lady. Miss Margo B. Duvall was an old widow
who lived blocks away from the church, in a house her late-husband
built with his own hands. They were married 53 years when he passed
away from a heart condition.
Miss
Duvall walked to the church three days each week. She would pray the
rosary, or walk the 14 stations of the cross. She preferred to pray
in solitude and silence, so she visited the church during the morning
hours.
Vernon
DeFranco saw Miss Duvall as a grandmotherly figure, so full of sage
advice and decades of life experience. It was she who recommended the
job at the market, which also helped him find the apartment above the
store. Miss Duvall also brought the occasional dinner to Vernon, who
in turn gave the old widow a few paintings.
Vernon
could think of no other person he would want to include in his
paintings of the church than the saintly old widow, Miss Duvall. He
started the painting with a rough pencil sketch, including Miss
Duvall in the lower right corner, in her favorite pew. She did not
move an inch during the whole time Vernon painted his first setting.
She
only stood up after he had applied the final touches to his painting.
She stopped at Vernon's easel, to get a good look at his latest work.
She examined it for a few moments, then she patted him on the
shoulder.
“Good
work, Vern.” she said. “You always amaze me. You have such an eye
for art, and your paintings always have such Grace. So beautiful...”
She
left Vernon alone in the church. He would stay for a few more hours.
He had two more pieces to finish for Mr. Gulch, and not much time to
get them right. He would include Miss Margo Duvall in all three of
them, in the same spot she occupied for so many decades.
Vernon
finished the next two pieces of art in no time. He packed up and
walked home, gingerly carting the freshly-painted works back to his
flat above the market. He set them on the table to finish drying.
The
next day, before his work day started, Vernon called Mr. Gulch's
office. He wanted to let Mr. Gulch know that the paintings were
finished and would be ready for pick up. No one answered the line in
Mr. Gulch's office.
During
his lunch break, Vernon spoke with the store owner, Mr. Anthony M.
Williams, about the paintings. Mr. Williams owned one or two of
Vernon's paintings, and had one displayed in the market.
“So,
that is how I met this Mr. Gulch.” Vernon told Mr. Williams. “He
will be here tomorrow for the paintings. Although they won't make
money this time, he assured me they will help get my name out there,
so my future paintings will fetch the library and other places more
money when they sell their collections.”
Mr.
Williams shook his head, “Well I don't care much for traveling
scouts. They're more like traveling snake oil salesmen; up to no
good, the lot of them. I would remain weary of any of this man's
promises, if I were you.”
“Why
is that?”
“I've
had past experiences with those types.” Mr. Williams said. “They
can talk all sorts of sweet things, but in the end, the break your
heart. They'll take away the only things in this life you care about.
So I tell you, don't trust him.”
Vernon
was deeply troubled by Mr. Williams' advice. He went home and studied
the business card once more. It seemed legitimate enough. The card
was professionally printed on high-quality card stock. The address
and phone number all checked out to be genuine. Vernon called the
City Hall to see if they had any information regarding Mr. Gulch and
his business. The clerk told Vernon he would have something by early
morning the next day. Vernon hoped the information would arrive
before Mr. Gulch showed up for the paintings. The same sticky feeling
he had earlier returned as he thought more and more about Mr. Gulch.
Despite
his uncertain apprehension, Vernon was determined to make more money
for the town. He only hoped Mr. Gulch would be that gateway to
greater profits. He yearned for the next day to arrive and to bring
with it a glorious change in the weather.
Vernon
set up his easel in his usual spot, near the oak tree in the
courtyard in the center of town. He wanted to get back to the usual
routine. While it was fun painting in a new setting, he still felt
there was more to explore in the well-tended courtyard.
Mr.
Gulch would arrive at any moment. Vernon had the three paintings
packaged and ready for the talent scout to take them to the art
exhibit.
As
Vernon applied some brilliant greens to his latest painting, Mr.
Gulch showed up. He was dressed up in a pinstripe suit, dark slacks
and a bright red bow tie. He looked somewhat like Mr. Jenkins,
Denison's funeral director, though Vernon decided not to tell Mr.
Gulch that.
“So
how is my bright and shining, rising star today?” Mr. Gulch said.
“I hope you have the paintings, so we can make you world famous.”
Vernon
stood up and handed the packaged art to Mr. Gulch. “There they are,
as you requested. I hope you think them good enough to display at the
show.”
“I'm
sure they'll be just fine.” Mr. Gulch threw the paintings under his
arm. “Well, I must be going. Thanks and I'll call you when I have
good news.”
With
that, Mr. Gulch disappeared.
In
the following days, Vernon continued to paint, however, he began
trying new places to set his easel. His scope expanded to include
other parts of Denison; the football field, the high school, the old
mine shaft, and other places of interest. He even tried his hand at
including more people into his works. Miss Margo Duvall was one of
the first people he had painted in years. She was followed by the
store owner, then the pharmacist, the mayor, some of the other
shopkeepers, and a number of the old men who practiced their Barber
Shop songs on the grand stands.
Days
later, Vernon took his latest works to the library. When he arrived,
he was surprised to see his other paintings were gone. He asked Miss
Erika, the head librarian, what happened.
“Oh,
someone came by and showed us a bill of sale.” she replied. “So
we naturally assumed you must have sold them all.”
“Do
you have the bill of sale?”
Miss
Erika pulled out a sheet from behind the counter. She handed it to
Vernon. The bill read: “12 paintings be Vernon DeFranco. Sold to
Ebeneezer Gulch. Ten dollars.”
Below
the hand-written note was Vernon's signature. Vernon was
flabbergasted. He had not signed any such note. It was clearly
forged, but he was powerless to do anything about it. He only hoped
Mr. Gulch would return shortly, for he had plenty of explaining to
do.
When
Mr. Gulch did not show, Vernon decided to take matters into his own
hands. He asked for, and got, the day off from work, after having
explained the situation to Mr. Williams.
“I
wish you all the best, Vern.” Mr. Williams said. “That is
terrible, what some people can do. If you need any help, I'm more
than willing to help you.” He handed Vern a twenty dollar bill. “I
wouldn't go there without some money. You never know what kind of
situation you'll end up facing over there.”
“Thanks,
Mr. Williams.” said Vernon.
Before
he hopped on the 10am bus for the big city, Vernon ran into Miss
Margo Duvall, who was on her way to a town council meeting. He told
her where he was going and why.
“That's
too bad.” Miss Duvall said. “Well, just know that if you need
anything, you're never alone. You can always count on me.” She gave
him a five dollar bill. “You take good care of yourself over there,
okay?”
“Yes,
ma'am. Thank you.”
Vernon
boarded the bus for the big city. He held tightly to his small
satchel of basic necessities. The voyage to the big city would take
four hours. Vernon would walk the six blocks from the bus depot to
the the Brandenburg Building, which was located on 728 Tuell Terrace.
The
Brandenburg Building was an old art-nouveau style structure from the
early 1900s. Though its better days were clearly behind it, the
richly ornate structure still amazed Vernon. Denison had no building
taller than four floors, and Vernon seldom left the comfortable
confines of his home town. The Brandenburg's large concourse equally
impressed Vernon, though he knew he couldn't afford any distractions.
He had to find Mr. Gulch's office before the close of the business
day.
The
lady receptionist stared at Vernon with a half-dazed look plastered
on her face. “Mr. Gulch is on the fourth floor,” she slowly
monotoned. “He is in office number 455. Would you like me to ring
his office and let him know you are on the way?”
“No,
thank you, ma'am.” Vernon said. “I want to make sure he's still
there when I get up there.”
“I
understand, sir. Have a good day...”
Vernon
took the stairs to the fourth floor. The fourth floor halls seemed
narrow compared to the extravagant, wrought iron and gilding of the
concourse. Office 455 was on the furthest end of the building, near
the public restrooms. Vernon knocked on the wood door. No one
responded. He tried the handle. The door was unlocked. He entered the
office.
“Oh.”
was the only word Vernon could say as he viewed Mr. Gulch's office
space. It was almost entirely empty, with only a folding chair, a
matching table and a telephone for furniture. A waste bin in the
corner held old a dozen take-out containers and a few, empty, glass
drink bottles.
Vernon
noticed a smoldering cigarette butt near the office door. From the
looks of it, the half-dazed receptionist broke her promise not to
call Mr. Gulch. Vernon wondered if he should stay in the office or
try to follow Mr. Gulch. He stood there, not knowing what to do or
where to turn.
He
left the building. He felt cheated. He felt lied to. Worse still, is
that he had no recourse, and no way to recover his lost artwork. He
called Mr. Williams and told him about the whole raw deal before
turning in for the night at a cheap motel not far from the bus depot.
Mr. Williams sounded concerned.
“You
sit tight, Vern. We'll help you make it right.”
“Okay.”
Vernon said half-heartedly.
Vernon
would board the afternoon bus back for Denison the next day. He only
hoped the library and the citizens of Denison would forgive him for
his bad business dealing, and for all the lost art and much-needed
income Mr. Gulch had stolen.
He
hoped the next day would bring with it better news.
Vernon
could not sleep that night. His missing artwork haunted his waking
dreams. He could hear the voices of his friends and fellow citizens
of Denison.
“You
cost us our funding.”
“You
should leave now, and never come back.”
“You
are a disappointment and a failure, and we don't want you here.”
As
he packed his meager belongings in the morning, Vernon considered
where he would go if he left Denison once and for all. He knew
nothing other than the little town by the woods, and the little
stream that served as a fishing hole during his misspent youth.
He
wondered if his Aunt Marion would house him for a few days. Aunt
Marion lived in Green Bay, not far from a pickle factory. Vernon
could get a part-time job at a nearby restaurant, and continue to
develop his craft. That would mean giving up on the town square that
so inspired him many a time.
He
called Aunt Marion. “Oh, that would be fantastic.” she told him.
“Your younger cousin, Victoria, would love to learn a few painting
tricks from you. Just come on over. We'd be glad to have you here.
You could sleep in the unfinished guest room on the second floor.”
“Okay.”
“Is
everything alright out there?” Aunt Marion asked.
“No.”
Vernon said. “I have hurt too many people out here. I think it's
best if I leave. I am unworthy of their trust or friendship.”
Vernon
headed for the bus depot. Along the way, he looked up the cost to
travel from Denison to Green Bay. He had enough at the bank in
Denison to cover the cost of bus fare from there to his Aunt's house.
He would buy the ticket as soon as he arrived safely in Denison.
The
10am bus from Denison arrived at 2:15pm. The bus would be emptied,
then Vernon would board the bus. He would be back home by 6:30pm.
Vernon
waited for the passengers to clear off the bus. To his surprise, Mrs.
Duvall, Mr. Williams and Miss Erika stepped off the bus and into the
bus depot. They were joined by a dozen other townsfolk, including the
mayor, Mr. Brandon Fisk, and the Sheriff, Mr. Steven Alwyn.
He
rand over to them. “Hello.” Vernon said. “What brings you here?
Are you here to arrest me for losing all those paintings to that
crook Mr. Gulch? I can explain...”
“No,”
Mr. Alwyn said, “we aren't here to arrest you. We're here to help
you.”
Vernon
shook his head. “Help me?” he asked. “But I cost the town all
those paintings.”
“That
you donated in the first place.” Mrs. Duvall said. “You have
helped us so much, Vern, that we couldn't watch idly as you suffered
at the hands of such a dastardly con man.”
“Thank
you.” Vernon said. “I wasn't certain if you would ever want me
back in town again.”
But
you're the Duke of Denison.” Miss Erika said. “You instilled in
our town a sense of civic pride which was in danger of totally dying
off.”
“We're
here,” Mr. Williams said, “to make sure our favorite son isn't
swindled ever again.”
“But
Mr. Gulch is gone.” Vernon explained. “He cleared out his office.
I don't know how to find him.”
“Well,
that's why we're all here.” the mayor said. “We're going to find
him, we're going to get back your paintings, and we're going to bring
justice to that con man Gulch.”
The
other townsfolk cheered the mayor on. Vernon was touched by their
kindness. He felt unworthy of such an outpouring of affection.
The
mayor continued. “You have inspired each of us, Vernon, with your
skills, talents and most of all, your charity. We will spread out in
this city, and use our individual skills to help you recover what you
lost. Now, let's go. We don't have time to waste. Mr. Gulch is going
down... tonight!”
Vernon
and his fellow citizens from Denison began their man-hunt of Mr.
Ebeneezer Gulch, talent scout-at-large. From the bus depot, they
split into three groups. Vernon teamed with Mr. Williams, Miss Erika
and the Sheriff, Steven Alwyn. They would head back to Mr. Gulch's
office, to see if they could retrace Mr. Gulch's exit strategy from
the day before.
“He's
in office 455, on the fourth floor.” Vernon told his friends. “When
I went up there last night,he had just left. I think the receptionist
called him and let him know I was on my way.”
“Let's
sneak around the receptionist.” Miss Erika suggested.
“No.”
Sheriff Alwyn said. “Let me handle the receptionist. I guarantee
you she won't call Mr. Gulch, not this time.”
“Fine.”
Vernon said. “I'll go to his office if you three wish to stay down
here.”
“I'm
going with you.” Miss Erika said.
“If
you wish.” Vernon blushed.
Vernon
and Miss Erika took the elevator to the fourth floor as Sheriff Alwyn
and Mr. Williams distracted the receptionist. Vernon turned to Miss
Erika.
“I'm
really sorry about the paintings.” he said. “I had no idea Mr.
Gulch was a shyster. If I had known, I wouldn't have accepted his
offer. He wouldn't have stolen the paintings I made for you...”
Vernon cleared his throat. “I mean, the paintings I made for the
library so you could buy whatever you wanted, or, well, whatever the
library needed to please you, that is...”
“I
understand what you're saying.” Miss Erika interrupted. “I don't
hold you responsible for this man's actions. You don't need to
apologize. It's the library that should be apologizing to you, and
thanking you for all the good you've done.”
“Well,
you're welcome.” Vernon said. “The library is welcome, yes, but
you're welcome, too.”
Miss
Erika placed a hand on Vernon's shoulder. “Relax, Vern.” she
said. “Everything will work out. You've got us helping you. In
fact, you have the whole town behind you. You mean so much to all of
us.”
“Thank
you, Miss Erika. That means a lot.”
The
elevator doors opened to the fourth floor. Vernon and Miss Erika
walked down to office 455. Vernon did not expect to find anyone
inside the office, nor did he expect to recover his paintings. When
he opened the door, he was not surprised to find the office entirely
empty.
“I
hope the others have better luck in tracking down Mr. Gulch.” Miss
Erika said. “I don't want to lose those lovely paintings. I enjoyed
looking at them every day I work.”
“You
do?” Vernon asked.
“Yes,
very much.”
“That's
good to know.” Vernon said. “Well, if you ever want anything
particular, just let me know, okay? I'd love to paint you, I mean
paint for you, for the library, though I wouldn't mind painting you.”
Vernon's blush deepened to crimson. He cursed himself for his
inability to speak clearly.
“Well,
we should get back with the others.” Miss Erika said. “We don't
want to be left behind.”
“Sure.”
They
rejoined the other downstairs. The Sheriff was beaming.
“I
found us a lead.” he said. “I got a last-known address for Mr.
Gulch. It's an apartment not far from here. It seems we're not far
behind this thief after all. Don't worry, Vern, we'll get your
paintings back for you.”
The
group left the Brandenburg Building for the Chase Apartments three
blocks away. The Chase Apartments once hosted the rich and somewhat
famous as a four star hotel. It's glory days coincided with the time
the Brandenburg Building was a reputable place of business. Both
spots fell victim to the apathetic march of time and progress.
Vernon,
Sheriff Awlyn, Mr. Williams and Miss Erika approached the five-story
building cautiously.
“I
say we break into two teams as before.” Sheriff Alwyn suggested.
“This way, no one will tip off Mr. Gulch of our arrival.”
“Good
idea.” said Mr. Williams. “I think I'll go with Vernon this
time.”
Sheriff
Alwyn shrugged. “That will be alright, I suppose. Let's go. We'll
meet in the lobby in ten.”
The four searchers split into two groups. Miss Erika and the Sheriff
approached the old concierge desk, while Vernon and Mr. Williams
headed for the post boxes just right of the main lobby. Vernon and
Mr. Williams did not find a Mr. Gulch listed in any of the mailboxes,
though they did find an Ebeneezer G. King in apartment 512.
“I
winder if he's using an alias.” Mr. Williams said. “This man
could have a dozen aliases for all we know.”
Vernon
and Mr. Williams took the stairs to the fifth floor, as the elevator
was out of order. The stairs wrapped around the old-fashioned,
wrought iron elevator shaft.
“No
wonder why it's out of order.” Mr. Williams said to Vernon. “Those
thing were death traps. You could open the door and step off into
nothing. You'd fall to your doom.”
“I'll
keep that in mind.” Vernon said.
Mr.
Williams and Vernon headed down the fifth floor hallway, toward room
512. The door was ajar. Mr Williams nudged the door open all the way.
Inside the apartment were stacks and stacks of paintings, more than
Vernon either gave to Mr. Gulch or the library combined.
“It
looks like you weren't the only one who trusted this con-man, Vern.”
Mr. Williams said. “Look at all that artwork. This has to be the
works of a dozen artists, if not more. If you hadn't gone after him,
who knows how many more artists he would have cheated. You may have
saved many other from the same, terrible fate, Vern. You should feel
good about that.”
“I
suppose.”
Vernon
heard someone quickly approaching the apartment from the stairs.
Vernon peeked out of Gulch's apartment to see Gulch himself running
down the hall towards them. He stopped dead in his tracks upon
spotting Vernon.
“Not
you again!” Mr. Gulch said. “Gotta get away from these people.”
Mr.
Gulch then took off the other way, towards the stairs. Vernon and Mr.
Williams followed.
For
some inexplicable reason, Mr. Gulch threw open the elevator shaft
door and hopped inside. The elevator proved a faster trip than the
stairs all the way down to the lobby. Vernon glanced into the shaft.
Mr. Gulch lay motionless on top of the elevator car, which was all
the way down in basement level, five floors below.
“As
I said earlier,” Mr. Williams shook his head, “these elevators
were death traps. He had no idea what he was getting himself into.
Now he'll never know. One thing is certain.”
“Yeah?”
Vernon asked. “What's that?”
“Mr.
Gulch sure got away from us.”
“Mr.
Gulch cheated so many artists. It seems he also cheated death. But he
won't cheat the law from dispensing justice.”
Sheriff
Alwyn pulled the broken, bleeding Ebeneezer Gulch from off the
elevator and into the lobby. Mr. Gulch was still breathing, though he
was not responsive. Mr. Williams, Miss Erika and Vernon gathered
around the suffering conman.
“What
do we do about this?” Mr. Williams asked Sheriff Alwyn. “Should
we call the local authority?”
“If
we call right now,” Mr. Williams said, “they'll seize all the
paintings as evidence, including all of Vernon's works. Who knows how
long it would be until we get them back again. The library needs
those funds now, isn't that right, Miss Erika?”
“I
don't think we have a choice.” Miss Erika chimed in. “He needs to
go to the hospital soon, or he might die. The library isn't as
important as a human life, even one so foul as Mr. Gulch.”
“Miss
Erika's right.” Vernon said. “He has to live to stand trial.
Besides, I can always paint her some more paintings, you know, for
the library.”
“I'll
get an ambulance.” Miss Erika ran off for a phone.
Mr.
Williams and Sheriff Alwyn glanced at Vernon. Their glances said
enough. Vernon blushed.
Mr.
Williams laughed. “Another work in progress, Vern? Best of luck to
you, my friend. She's quite the lady.”
Vernon
smiled. "She is, indeed; more lovely than any painting."
Moments
later, an ambulance arrived. Mr. Gulch was taken off to the hospital,
while local authorities investigated the conman's apartment. Vernon
and the rest of the citizens of Denison left the big city behind, to
return to their peaceful, normal and quiet lives.
Vern
returned to the city park, though he would occasionally paint
elsewhere. The library became one of his new favorite places to
paint. Miss Erika appreciated Vernon's presence and paintings very
much. With Vernon's works, and the publicity garnered from the Gulch
court case, the library made more than enough money to cover its
costs for many years.
And
with his share of the money, Vernon proposed to his sweetheart
librarian, and together they painted a wonderful portrait of a
family; The Duke and Duchess of Denison, complete with a royal brood
of their own.
THE
END
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