Lineage(63)

“Now is the time to think of only one thing. That which I was born for.”

Lance appraised the other man again like a jeweler gazing at a rough-hewn stone. “Hemingway.”

“The one and only. Not trying to be darkly ironic by quoting him after selling you a shotgun or anything.” Stub’s eyes shone with amusement as Lance chuckled at the black humor and pulled the gun case off the counter.

“Thanks again. If I have too many beers to drink one night on a weekend, would you consider coming to my place to help me out?” Lance said.

“I’d be honored,” the big man replied, and Lance could see that he truly meant it.

Just as Lance put his hand on the doorknob of the store’s front door, Stub called again from where he stood behind the counter.

“One more thing.” Lance turned and looked back across the breadth of the shop. “What I said earlier about calling the cops, don’t bother. They take way too long in these parts, just another aspect of living in a small town. Use that gun if you need it. If someone wants to hurt you, you’d be dead before the police ever got there.”



The ride home was uneventful and Lance let his mind drift over the events of the morning as he drove. He had left John’s house with his thoughts muddled, the sincerity of the other man’s words battling with his own convictions, and ended up at the same café in which he ate lunch on his first day in town. The coffee, toast, and egg-white omelet had cleared some of the convoluted thoughts from his head but the feeling of vulnerability hadn’t departed by the time the check was paid and the sleepy-eyed waitress tipped. A means for defense had entered his mind, and the gun store at the far end of town seemed the most logical at the time. As he drove away from Stub’s gun shop (he couldn’t think of it as Endor’s any longer, no matter how hard he tried), his eyes found the front of Mary’s bookstore, and he felt himself preparing to park in front of the building. Her pretty face floated before him and he longed to listen to her voice—for her to talk about the weather would even be a calming exercise—and he had to physically stop himself from turning into an empty parking spot. Instead, he pushed the gas pedal farther to the floor, breaking the speed limit as he exited the town’s main street.

The sun hung straight overhead, chasing the last remnants of the previous night’s clouds from the sky, when Lance pulled to a stop in front of the house. The engine’s clock-like ticking was the only sound above the distant rasp of waves washing upon the shore below the hill. His mind had already turned to the afternoon’s work when he noticed the note attached to the front door with a single strip of transparent tape. Scrawling script that would have been more at home on any doctor’s prescription pad adorned the paper. The note finally became clear only after Lance read it twice.

Lance, sorry for getting off on the wrong foot. Please come for dinner this evening around six.



—John



Lance stood on the front stoop re-reading the note for several minutes. He tried to imagine different scenarios in which John could possibly be luring him away from the house for a reason, but none seemed to have any merit. Without fully committing to the invitation, he unlocked the door and entered the coolness of the house.

As he walked to the kitchen, he mentally checked that everything was still in its place and hadn’t been tampered with while he was gone. The kitchen yielded a turkey sandwich and a few slices of apple before he made his way to the alcove and the waiting computer within.

The silence of the house gave him much-needed solitude over the next few hours, and the only sound that disturbed the quiet was the rustling tap of the keyboard’s letters forming words. The lake outside the windows reflected the blue of the late-summer sky, and soft breaths of wind began to frost its middle with whitecaps. The day faded into evening without the notice of the house’s lone occupant, and it was only when the sun began to dip behind the tall curtain of trees in the west that Lance looked up from the computer screen.

He sat back and rested, in slight awe of the work before him. The sense of accomplishment was so satisfying that he could have sighed with the pleasure of it. Another fifteen pages had been added to the last tally when he checked, his vision of the words being finally released from a pent-up dam within him solidifying into fact.

Lance stood from the chair after saving the file, and walked to the kitchen. The clock on the stove read 5:20—just enough time for him to shower, dress, and arrive at John’s home. Indecision tossed within him. The temptation to completely ignore the caretaker’s request appealed to him just on principle, but on the other hand, if the old man wasn’t responsible for the night visitations, he might possibly have an idea about who was.