The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Judging by the way he was dragging more than usual, one would believe that Charles had just left a funeral all alone. Completely drained, the man stepped into his warm, empty apartment and neatly placed his cane right beside the door. From there, he slugged his heavy body into his bedroom and sat down on the side of the bed that was facing the window. The only thing the man could hear outside were children playing and the city bus roaring by. Beyond that everything inside his head had gone silent.

He sat on his bed with a stomach so twisted up in knots that he could barely even breathe. He had to brace his own body to keep it from shaking. In all honesty he didn't want to leave the jailhouse; he had to assemble every last bit of courage just to get on the bus. By the time Charles even made it to the apartment building his will had all but left him. Seated on the bed was a hollow husk. All he desired at that point was an end, a fitting finale; and the wait was even more dreadful than the eventual act itself.

Charles sighed before a lonely tear began to drop from his left eye. Just as soon as he was about to shut his eyes he heard the front doorknob rattle and twist before the creaking of the door itself came into earshot. He listened as the door closed shut before footsteps began plodding across the floor. Immediately, the man held his breath before his heart pounded loud and hard enough to where it felt as if it were about to explode right through his chest. Charles gulped as hard as he could while steadily staring out the window at the sunlight that was trying so desperately to peek from out of the clouds that morning.

From out of nowhere the robust aroma of fresh roses floated into the bedroom before Charles could feel a presence creep up behind him. He began to whimper out loud while shaking hysterically. He tried so hard not to look, but he couldn't help himself. Out of the corner of his right eye he saw a black figure walk into the room and bypass him altogether on their way to the window. Charles nearly fell over at that blistering instant. It was a man dressed in an all-black suit and tie. He just stood at the window looking out at the emerging sun.

Charles was so flabbergasted that he couldn't even operate his own tongue. He was still shaking, but it was a whole different kind of tremble that had seized him without warning.

The man remained at the window for a few moments before asking in a dull tone, "Do you remember when I was a kid, and you would take me down to the train yards to watch the engines go by?"

Still quaking, Charles' tongue fumbled, "Ye...yes," he drooled.

"I used to love going down there all the time. I'd always be in school wishing I could hop on one of those trains and ride away from math class. Or whenever we'd go to Aunt Henrietta's house. I used to hate going over there because of those mean cats of hers."

Charles cracked a grin while even more tears fell from his swollen eyes. He couldn't take his eyes off of the man who had his back turned to him the entire time.

went down there and nearly

push as hard as he

hesitated before replying, "I guess deep down I just wanted it all to

around so badly. He wanted to jump up and fling him

and watch each and every one pass right by me. Then...one of those trains just stopped. Just like that, it stopped. And mama said that I need to

All he could do was

Thank you for dressing me up for my

voice spoke up and muttered, "You be a good boy

the man had departed. Charles continued to sit and blindly

door could be heard opening and closing all over again. Charles noticed something that sounded like keys rattling behind it. The man quickly wiped his eyes and face clean before lifting his heavy frame up from off the bed and limping with rubbery legs into

need to find someone to do something about these drafts around here before the winter arrives. One nearly knocked me to my feet as I

room to the other before venturing

remarked, "Why on earth would you want to pay someone to come up in here and do something about the draft when all I have to do is take myself down to the hardware store and get

oddly at the man as if

with that then I gotta go down to the hardware store and pick up some supplies to fix Russell's icebox, and then I'll get that sealant. And also, please tell Mrs. Howell the next time I go over to fix something in her place to have her bathrobe