Blue Demon Read online

  The old man still hadn’t said anything. That had to be a good sign. Dan guessed a hundred dollars off the price was too much, but maybe not. Perhaps the guy had said five-hundred in hopes of getting that, or close to it.

  “Four-fifty and we have a deal,” the old man said.

  Dan kept his mouth shut as his brain screamed at him to say yes. He bit his lower lip, hoping to appear like he was thinking about it.

  “Four-twenty-five, and that’s my final offer,” the old man said.

  “Sold,” Dan said.

  “I’ll get the box it came in,” the clerk said and turned to head to what looked like a storage room entrance. “It’s got a small crease on one corner, but nothing too bad.”

  “Actually,” Dan said, suddenly feeling a bit awkward,” I don’t have that amount of cash on me. Can I pick it up tomorrow?”

  The old man stopped. His shoulders fell and he seemed to shrink a few inches. “We take credit card.”

  Dan didn’t want another charge on the overused piece of plastic. He only had one on him, his wife having the others. Their total credit card bills were finally getting to a point of reasonableness. They’d agreed to not use them for anything but emergencies until at least two had a zero balance. Plus, he’d gotten a good deal on the action figure and paying interest would negate it.

  Dan reached in his pocket and withdrew all the cash he had on him. He knew he had about a hundred and thirty bucks, and after counting it, realized he was only off by two dollars.

  “I’ve got a hundred and thirty-two dollars on me,” he said. “Can I leave it as a deposit and pay the rest tomorrow when I pick it up. My paycheck will have cleared by then.”

  The old man had turned around and was facing in his direction. He smiled, looking pleased. “Good enough,” he said and nodded.

  Dan filled out a deposit form and listed the amount he left, along with his name and address.

  Now, he was racing toward the comic book store, hoping to make it there before it closed at 9:00 p.m. The back roads had been a good choice up until a few moments ago when he came upon a slow-moving big rig hauling stacks of lumber. At times, he had to slow to a paltry twenty miles per hour when the road took a turn or went uphill. He thought about passing the truck, but it was too dangerous with all the twists and turns and cars coming from the other direction.

  Finally, having had enough, he honked and flashed his high beams, hoping the truck would move over. His idea paid off as the big rig slowed and moved to the side to allow him, and the line of cars that had built behind him, to pass by.

  Dan hit the gas and waved at the driver, letting him know he appreciated the maneuver.

  It was now 8:59 p.m. He wasn’t going to get to the store on time. His phone was on the seat next to him, plugged into the cigarette lighter. He picked it up, called the comic book store and told the man—he’d learned his name was Hank—that he was a few minutes out and asked if he could wait. Hank told him it wouldn’t be a problem as long as it was only a few minutes, or he was going to have to pick up Blue Demon tomorrow. The man’s wife was having their son over for dinner and she didn’t like it when he was late.

  Dan ended the call and placed the phone back on the passenger seat. He continued to look ahead, the road in front of him clear. His son was going to be so surprised and he couldn’t wait to see the kid’s reaction. He’d tell him Blue Demon was special though and had to be treated with care. Kept inside the house. Cal would understand, he was old enough to, he thought.

  As he approached an intersection in the road, he saw headlights from an approaching car. He thought nothing of it, knowing there was a stop sign where that road intersected his. He stared straight ahead, his focus on getting to the comic book store, and it wasn’t until the headlights were blinding his right side that he realized the oncoming car wasn’t going to stop.

  The vehicle slammed in to the side of his Camry. A thunderous roar filled his ears and shook him to his bones. Glass shattered and exploded over him from the passenger window. Metal crunched and twisted. His body was jerked sideways. The seat belt bit into his neck. The passenger side of his car filled with the other vehicle’s grill, one of its headlights blinding him. A moment later, he saw and knew no more.

  Chapter Two

  “Has the jury reached a decision?” Judge Willis Caldwell asked.

  “Yes, we have, your honor,” the foreman said.

  “Will the defendant please rise.”

  Derek Whitmore stood, along with his counsel and the prosecutor. The jury had deliberated for less than two hours. Derek’s father knew the case against his son was a slam dunk. He’d sat behind him during the entire trial, wanting him to know that he was there for him, but also to make sure that the presiding judge, a colleague, always had eyes on him. He knew there was little the man could do for Derek, but he had hoped his mere presence would remind the judge that he had his son’s life in his hands and not some regular delinquent’s.

  “What say you?” the judge asked the foreman.

  “We, the jury, find the defendant, Derek Whitmore, guilty of second degree vehicular manslaughter.”

  A small amount of commotion broke out over the crowd, but quickly quieted. A woman sniffled and sobbed.

  The judge set his stare at Derek. “The defendant is therefore remanded to serve a sentence of four to seven years in a New York State penitentiary.”

  “What?” a woman yelled from behind the prosecution’s table. “That’s bullshit.”

  Derek’s father turned and saw that it was the victim’s wife, Jacqueline Myers.

  The judge slammed his gavel. “Order in the court.”

  The woman refused to be quiet, saying that justice was not served and how her son would not have a father for the rest of his life. The judge ordered the bailiff to remove the woman when she refused to be quiet. She continued her tirade, calling the whole proceeding a ridiculous joke and saying how the legal system favored its own.

  An elderly man and woman helped usher the distraught woman out of the courtroom as the crowd looked on with shocked expressions. Whispers had broken out across the room and the judge called for order again.

  ●●●

  Derek Whitmore had been in and out of trouble since he was eleven years old. His father, Judge John Whitmore, was a well-respected man in the community of Salisbury Mills, where he lived, and Goshen, where he worked. The man had always been there to make the penalties for his son’s actions disappear, or at least lessen in their severity.

  In sixth grade, Derek had flushed M-80 firecrackers down the school toilets and not only flooded the floor, but caused thousands of dollars worth of damage. Everyone knew it had been him. He’d been seen on video going into and out of the boy’s bathroom just before the incident occurred. But his father had stepped in, made a small donation to the school and offered to pay for the damage, as long as his son’s record remained clean. When his father asked him why he’d done it, he’d simply said, “Because I wanted to see what would happen.”

  It seemed that had been the starting point of Derek’s troubles, his downfall. Shortly after the bathroom incident, he did such things as lighting the cafeteria’s garbage can on fire. He was caught video recording up girls’ skirts, smoking cigarettes and pot on school grounds and getting into fights. He’d even been accused of mugging a kid after school for the kid’s phone, though there was no proof except for the victim’s word—a known liar and troublemaker himself.

  Derek’s father continued to use his influence to keep his son out of trouble, hoping he was simply acting out as some teenagers do. Going through a phase. He couldn’t have adolescent mistakes follow his son for the rest of his life. But still, the troubles continued.

  He didn’t understand why his son did the things he did. As a judge, he’d seen the gamut of kids from both troubled and good homes, usually finding out the reasons for why a child might act out and where non-law-abiding adults came from. While a child’s home life could be the result
in the breeding of a criminal, sometimes it turned out that the individual was just born bad.

  Derek had everything a boy could want, a caring father—though busy much of the time, and plenty of money, never leaving him wanting for anything. The kid was good-looking and by no means had a problem getting a girlfriend, though they were usually not the brightest or the most polite. Many looked like future meth addicts, wearing gobs of dark eyeliner, piercings protruding from their cheeks, lips and who knew where else, and tattoos riddling their bodies and not in an artful and organized way.

  He tried talking with his son numerous times, but never got far with him. One day, he tried again, getting right to what he thought could be the problem.

  “Is your acting up because of your mother?” he asked.

  Derek guffawed, then said, “Fuck her. That bitch means nothing to me. I could not care less if she rots in hell.”

  His father understood the kid’s pain. He himself hated the woman as much as he still loved her. She’d left them when Derek was five-years-old, but the kid hadn’t acted up until he turned eleven. He didn’t think that was the reason, unless it was from some delayed-psychological turmoil, like PTSD, where the effects were felt later.

  John tried getting Derek counseling, but the kid only played with every shrink he saw. He’d make up stories, things like: how his father liked to dress in women’s clothing and tried to make him do it too. Or how he’d been chained in the basement for days because he didn’t mow the lawn. Even though Derek was sixteen at the time, child services had to be alerted. Of course, nothing was found to justify Derek’s claims, but the embarrassment John had to endure at work was overwhelming. Even though none of what his son claimed was true, rumors were spread and “odd” looks were given.

  Shortly after that, Derek began getting into fights at school after some students started picking on him, having heard how his father liked to dress up in women’s clothes. It was a rumor that spread thanks to his doing, but he apparently liked his dad enough to defend him, at least that’s what the school’s guidance counselor had said was the reason. John saw it as an excuse. His son’s bad behavior was escalating, but he had no idea what to do about it, save sending his son to military school or someplace like that.

  From that point on, Derek was getting into fights on a regular basis, simply trying to prove how tough he was. It seemed the lies he’d told to embarrass his father had backfired and caused more grief to enter his life. He had gotten suspended a couple of times, but it seemed like the kid had a taste for blood. He continued to fight, only he’d changed to doing so after school hours and off school grounds. His father often caught him with black eyes or a busted lip. John told him enough was enough and that one day he was going to wind up in prison and there’d be nothing he could do to help him.

  Then midway through the eleventh grade, Derek was permanently kicked out of school. He’d gotten into an argument with a classmate during gym class and wound up hitting the kid across his face, breaking his jaw. Seen as a violent act and it being his fourth serious school offense, there was nothing his father could do. John ended up settling with the victim’s parents outside of court for a large sum of money. Again, Derek had gotten lucky in that regard.

  Having decided to send his kid to military school, Derek had the rest of the year to do as he pleased, which was a bad idea his father soon learned when Derek was picked up for selling drugs. The charge was downgraded to a misdemeanor, but he let his son sit in jail for a week, hoping his time there would wake him up.

  But it didn’t.

  A day after getting released, he was picked up for shoplifting a case of beer from the grocery store. Another misdemeanor went on his record to go with the three others he already had.

  “I can’t protect you anymore, son,” John said to him after picking him up from the sheriff’s office. “You need to seek help. Stop this shit before it’s too late. Before you do something you can’t recover from.”

  To his surprise, Derek cried and let out a bunch of pent up stuff. He said how sorry he was. He’d hated his time in prison. He was scared and didn’t want to wind up there again. He only stole the beer to relax him and get his mind off his troubles. He tried paying the clerk, but the guy wouldn’t take his money on account of his being underage. It was stupid and he wouldn’t do such a thing again.

  After that, his son seemed to turn himself around. He stopped hanging around with his loser friends, shaved daily and looked like a person that took care of himself. He swam in the pool and ate dinner with his father. He talked about getting his high school diploma so that he could go to college. John had to pinch himself to see if he was dreaming. Everything seemed to have turned around, the hard love of letting his son sit in jail had worked.

  Then two weeks later, when he was sitting in front of the television at home, he received the news.

  Derek had killed someone with his car.

  Chapter Three

  A few weeks after his thirteenth birthday and the start of the new school year, Cal had been to the doctor for a routine checkup. His ears, eyes, throat, and chest were all examined. He had blood taken, the dreaded act equivalent to the flaying of flesh—according to Cal. All normal things a young person experienced.

  The blood results came back and revealed Cal had an elevated white blood cell count. Further and more specific tests were ordered and the findings revealed cancer. The doctor ordered an X-ray. An abnormality appeared on the picture, and Cal was immediately sent for a CAT scan, which revealed the irregularity in much greater detail. He had a tumor located in the Talus bone of his right ankle. It explained the discomfort Cal was having in his ankle. After a biopsy was performed, it was discovered to be malignant. His mother was in complete shock. Cal had turned his ankle during gym class a few weeks ago and she’d simply figured it was mildly sprained. But no, it was the cancer eating away at his bone.

  The news was devastating, but they dealt with it through education of the subject, and tears. Jackie spent her nights crying, alone, needing the release. She wouldn’t do so in front of Cal. He needed to see her as Mom, the strong one who could conquer all. Make everything all right for him.

  She hadn’t felt this anxious since Dan had died. She’d spent numerous evenings in her room, by herself, crying into a pillow so Cal wouldn’t hear her. Now her son had cancer, the deadly kind. The kind that spread fast, and once it did, usually killed. She needed her husband more than ever, needed someone to lean on.

  ●●●

  Cal was been presented with two options for treating the cancer. The first method involved radiation. The doctor hoped to shrink the tumor as much as possible, therefore minimizing the damage done to the surrounding area when it was removed. The injured bone would then be replaced with bone taken from another part of Cal’s body or from a cadaver. It seemed like a logical course, a way for Cal to keep his foot, but it was a high risk option. If the radiation didn’t take, Cal might very well die. The tumor was fast growing. His doctor, as well as three specialists from other hospitals, agreed that the best course of action was amputation of the foot. Cal would live, and he would have no risk of the cancer spreading.

  ●●●

  Jackie hadn’t known what to do. She didn’t want her boy to be disabled for the rest of his life. It would’ve been different if he was older, but he was just a kid. He liked to play, run and climb trees, do the things children his age did. But it wasn’t worth risking his life, because if he died… Well, she didn’t think she’d be able to go on.

  She, of course, had informed her parents, who immediately booked a flight and were going to stay with her during the ordeal. She didn’t want to worry them, but family was stronger and worked best when they were together, like coals in a fireplace. Also, she wanted someone to lean on and cry with.

  Together, they discussed the options. As much as it destroyed her on the inside, she was able to come to a decision to remove the foot. She dreaded having to tell Cal, and it took some doing, b
ut she’d convinced him that it was the best thing to do. Hell, she’d tie him down and cut it off herself if she had to. She’d already lost a husband and wasn’t about to risk losing her son.

  The next day, she called the surgeon’s office and scheduled the surgery.

  Cal wasn’t fully able to absorb the reality of the situation, so in order to help him do so, and to get a start on the inevitable, they visited with a prosthesis doctor. The woman sat with Jackie and Cal and showed them a variety of prosthetic feet and how they worked.

  “Prosthetics have come a long way, Cal,” the doctor said. “It’ll take a bit of adjusting and practice, but you’re young and you’ll get the hang of using the artificial foot in no time.”

  “Will I feel stuff?” he asked.

  “Not in the foot, so there’ll be no more stubbing your toes,” she said, winking.

  “Will he be able to walk normally?” Jackie asked.

  “I don’t see why not. In fact, I don’t see why he shouldn’t be able to do anything he puts his mind to.” She looked at Cal, her face bright and gleaming. “Including running, riding your bike or playing sports, as well as all that troublesome stuff young boys get in to.”

  The doctor was really good with Cal. She’d actually gotten the kid to smile a few times and forget all about the awfulness of the situation. It was good to see, and it gave Jackie hope that Cal would be all right. But she still felt as if she’d swallowed a bowling ball, her stomach weighed down, knowing the worst was yet to come.

  She couldn’t believe how fast everything was moving. The suddenness of life could be overwhelming at times. But she kept on chugging, her motherly abilities working overtime.

  She thought after losing Dan that nothing else could ever hurt as much, but she’d been dead wrong. Losing her son would be worse. Him losing a foot she could tolerate. It wasn’t death, but it was life-altering for Cal, so it was for her too. A thirteen-year-old having to prepare for the loss of a foot was simply wrong. It wasn’t fair. They already had enough angst in their lives, but apparently it hadn’t been enough for the cosmos.