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.

down there and

to push as hard as he

The man hesitated before replying, "I guess deep down I just wanted it all to end. Everything...from start to

jump

could do was just stand and watch each and every one pass right by me. Then...one of those trains just stopped. Just like

was sit and cry without making a single sound

up for my

broken voice spoke up and muttered, "You be a good boy now, and tell your...mama...that I'll be home from

departed. Charles continued to sit and blindly gaze out the window while sobbing. He couldn't move even if the building

off the bed and limping with rubbery legs into the living room to find Audra blatantly traipsing around checking the windows and thermostat. Charles could sense the heat emanate off of her like an open flame as she rampaged about like a busy

to find someone to do something about these drafts around here before the winter arrives. One nearly

the other before venturing deeper until he

to pay someone to come up in here

stopped short of the kitchen's threshold and stared oddly at the

fix Russell's icebox, and then I'll get that sealant. And also, please tell Mrs.