Under-Heaven Read online

  Under-Heaven

  From “Maine’s Other Author”TM

  TIM GREATON

  ALSO BY TIM GREATON

  From Focus House Publishing

  The Santa Shop

  (book 1 in “The Santa Conspiracy”)

  Available Now

  Bones in the Tree

  (a 13,500-word, 41 page novella)

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  Zachary Pill, The Dragon at Station End

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  Available Now

  Heroes With Fangs

  2011

  Contact Tim at

  [email protected]

  Read Tim’s Blog at

  timgreaton.blogspot.com

  Under-Heaven

  From “Maine’s Other Author”TM

  TIM GREATON

  Copyright 2011 by Tim Greaton.

  Published by Focus House Publishing on Kindle

  This is a work of fiction. The names and the characters are fictional. Any resemblance to living or dead individuals is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, including digital or audio sampling, internet display or download, or any other form of digital or physical display or transfer, excepting only brief excerpts for use in a literary review, without expressed written permission from the author.

  Previously released in collectible advance version From My Cold Young Fingers

  Published by Focus House Publishing

  Under-Heaven

  Cover photography by T.J. Greaton

  Cover graphics by Wizards Prism Art & Media

  Under-Heaven

  From “Maine’s Other Author”TM

  TIM GREATON

  Focus House Publishing

  Wilton, Maine

  To Joan my beautiful wife and to my three

  amazing children who were all so patient during

  my thousands of writing hours—I can barely

  find words to express my love and thanks.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  To my mothers, Marilyn Jordan and Ruth Greaton—It is

  hard to image what kind of a man, let alone what kind of

  a writer, I would have become without your love and

  guidance over these many years. Please know you have

  all my love.

  To Marilyn Nulman and Mark Reeder—In every author’s

  life there is usually one writer that teaches and inspires. I

  was so fortunate to find two of you. Thank you.

  And to you my readers—It’s impossible to describe how

  much I appreciate your continued support. Please know

  that I strive every day to tell better stories…all for you,

  dear readers, all for you.

  Contents

  Prologue

  1) The Angry Man

  2) Under-Heaven

  3) Falling Hero

  4) In Fear of Memories

  5) Mental Doors Can Crack

  6) A Colorful Friend

  7) A Bloody Past

  8) Difficult Promises

  9) Dark Thoughts and a Missing Angel

  10) Ripped From My Cold Young Fingers

  11) Second Chances

  12) And Then Came the Warrior

  13) Family Ties

  14) Earth, Present and Past

  15) Receding Footsteps

  16) A Friend’s Plan

  17) Decisions and the Damned

  18) Realizations

  19) Troubled Souls

  20) Dominoes Begin to Fall

  21) False Hope and Danger

  22) Desperation

  23) Lives Collide

  24) Secrets and Hunches

  25) Decisions

  26) In the Balance

  Epilogue

  Under-Heaven

  Edition E-1

  PROLOGUE

  The sound had barely registered on my ears when, with a twist and a jerk from a forearm that had pulled thousands of lobster traps from the briny ocean, Casey Edd, the highliner of Coldwell Bay, snapped my neck.

  My soul fled that accursed house before my thin body even had time to drop to the floor…

  1

  The Angry Man

  “I told you, I’ll handle your mother!” the gaunt, disheveled man said, smashing his McDonald’s shake down on the table. Pink liquid exploded everywhere.

  Jesse froze as a thick drop oozed from the table edge onto his sneakers. Swallowing hard, he felt dread clamp around his chest. He knew his father was only seconds away from what his mother called a “hellva bad scene.”

  Jesse’s eyes darted around the room. No one was nearby, though a woman with a baby stroller and another family with two boys a year or two older than him sat on the far side of the restaurant. On one hand, he hoped they were far enough away to avoid what was about to happen, but on the other he prayed he wouldn’t be his father’s only target. His rememory wasn’t very good yet, but it seemed to him that his father got meaner with each passing day. Try as he might, Jesse could never understand where his father’s outbursts came from, and whenever he asked his mother she would only say, “Just be glad you’re still a little boy.”

  Seeing his father’s cheek muscles tighten his face into the shape of a bare skull, Jesse stared down at the floor and held back the tears. Pressing his lips together, he tried to ignore the hot feeling in his eyes. At the edge of his vision he could see his father’s fists clenching and unclenching. Jesse’s little body started to quake.

  Suddenly, a trickle of pee came out from down there.

  Doubly terrified at what might happen if his father found out, he tried to keep his five-year-old body under control. But when that big hand smacked loudly into the pink mess on the table, a tiny bit more pee trickled out.

  “That bitch never controlled me, and I’ll be damned if she’ll start now!” his father exclaimed.

  Not daring to move, Jesse kept his eyes glued to his goop-spattered fries. At the top of his vision, he saw his father shake off his hand before wiping it on his already grimy green jacket. Anger was scribbled like red crayon across his face. He glared at the two families across the room.

  Taking a chance, Jesse felt his crotch. It was dry. Maybe he hadn’t peed that much, at least he hoped not. He yanked his hand back up and waited for his father’s unshaven jaw to stop grinding back and forth. Sitting there, Jesse regretted begging his mom to let him go out to eat with his dad. It was weird because when they weren’t together, he missed his dad so much it hurt. But lately it seemed that when they were together it was worse than missing him. Maybe he was beginning to understand why his mother wouldn’t let his dad live with them anymore.

  Jesse winced when his father’s angry gaze swung back his way. Too scared to speak, he averted his eyes and wondered, not for the first time, if he might somehow be to blame for the way his dad was acting. Though his mother insisted he had nothing to do with it, how could she be so sure? Jesse tried to remember if he had said or done anything that morning or any morning to get his father so upset. As usual, his memory wasn’t up to the task. He couldn’t recall doing anything wrong.

  Fighting back tears, Jesse wished things could go back to the way they used to be, back when his father had still been his best friend. Yes, his mom loved him, cared for him, and always kept him fed and warm, but it was his dad who always used to wake him up early Saturday mornings so they could watch cartoons and play video games together. And it was his dad who always used to rush into their apartment after work, ready for a wrestling match even before he changed out of his work clothes. The memories almost brought a smile to little Jesse’s face. But then something had happened; just like that, their cartoon mornings, vid
eo games and wrestling matches had all ended. It was almost as if an invisible hand had reached inside his father’s chest and pulled all the fun out of him. He started getting angry a lot and coming home later and later from work. It finally got so bad that Jesse would already be in bed by the time his dad came through the door. That’s when the arguing between his parents had started.

  Now, sitting at the milkshake-splattered table, Jesse feared his dad had disappeared, somehow replaced by a dirty, angry man who just plain scared him. His father gestured at the tray in front of him.

  “We came here to eat, so eat.”

  Hesitantly, Jesse picked up a French fry, the one with the largest blob of pink goo. At another time it might have been delicious, but he took only one tiny bite before poking it into his half-eaten cheeseburger. He could feel his dad looking at him. Fear traced chills up and down his neck. Maybe he should have offered his money sooner.

  “I’m sorry, Jess. I’m not mad at you.”

  Relieved, Jesse raised his head to find the lines in his father’s forehead had smoothed.

  “I brought it, Dad!” he blurted out, desperate to avoid a return of his father’s angry mood. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a crumpled plastic sandwich bag. “It’s my piggybank money, just like you wanted.” Jesse studied his father’s face as he handed the bag across the table. His father took it, but instead of the happy expression Jesse had hoped for, his father’s lips thinned.

  “I thought you—”

  Jesse was going to add “wanted me to bring my money” but his father waved him silent. Dark eyes stared at him for a moment before examining the little bag of bills.

  “You did good, Jess.” His father wiped at his eyes with the back of one hand.

  Why was his father crying?

  His dad took all but one of the bills and handed the bag back with one dollar left inside. Just then, a fast food worker approached.

  “Is everything alright?”

  “We had an accident,” his dad said in a gruff voice.

  “I can see that,” the older boy said cheerfully. “But don’t worry—”

  “Just clean the fucking mess up!”

  The boy’s pudgy face turned red. His arm rose, and for a tiny moment it looked like he was going to stick up his mean finger, but instead he gave a weak smile, nodded and moved away.

  Jesse didn’t dare say a word.

  “Useless little prick,” his father said. “Someone ought to fire his ass.” His head snapped toward the service counter where two other workers, an older man with glasses and a young woman, were talking quietly.

  “D’you hear that? You should fire his pimply ass!”

  The woman’s head snapped up and her mouth opened as if to say something, but the man with glasses put his hand on her shoulder and whispered something. She gave Jesse’s dad one final angry glare then disappeared into the cooking area. The older man didn’t look their way again as he sprayed cleaner and began wiping the front counter with a cloth.

  “Just a bunch of friggin’ losers,” Jesse’s father said. He was looking at Jesse again. “Don’t quit school, sport, or you’ll wind up working here with these retards!” The last he said loudly enough that anyone in the restaurant could have heard. The older man in the service window, however, continued washing his counter as though he hadn’t heard anything at all.

  His dad reached across the table and put his hand on Jesse’s. Jesse tried to hand the bag back to him.

  “No, Jess,” his dad said in his friendly voice. “Put that back in your piggybank when you get home—and don’t tell your mom. I don’t want her to be mad at you.”

  Jesse nodded. Of course he wouldn’t tell her. She was already mad enough at his father.

  “Excuse me,” the older boy said, having returned with a washcloth in hand. Jesse’s father stood and moved out of the way so he could wash the table. Jesse started to get up, but the boy waved him back down. “No, you’re okay. Just move your food for a second.”

  Jesse pulled his tray out of the way and in moments the boy had washed everything clean.

  “I’ll be back with a mop in a minute.” The boy’s voice cracked so that the word “minute” came out sounding like a girl.

  “I’m going to the bathroom,” Jesse’s dad announced.

  “I need to go, too,” Jesse said.

  “Goddamn it then! You go!”

  Jesse hesitated, both from fear of his father and because he suddenly realized his accident might be visible from behind. He stared at his food.

  “Well, do you have to go or not?” his father asked. Jesse’s eyes lifted and settled on several beads of sweat forming at his father’s hairline. Dumbly, he shook his head “no.”

  “You’re as bad as your friggin’ mother,” his father grumbled as he slid off his chair and stomped toward the bathroom. “She can never make up her goddamned mind either.”

  Jesse silently wiped at a stray tear as his father disappeared into the bathroom. As soon as the door closed, he quickly slid his hands under the sides of his legs and then under his bottom. Thankfully, the backside of his pants didn’t feel any wetter than the front. It appeared his underwear had absorbed most or all of the “scared pee.”

  Glancing toward the service counter, Jesse could see the girl had returned. She and the older man were whispering back and forth. He tried not to stare, but they kept gesturing toward him and then toward the bathroom. Jesse had seen his father thrown out of enough places to know what was coming next. Ignoring the feeling of damp cloth against his private place, Jesse hurried over to stand beside the restroom door.

  “Hey,” his father said, swaying to a stop as he came out a couple of minutes later. He had a goofy grin on his face, and his eyes rolled back and forth as though he was having a hard time focusing on Jesse. If it weren’t for the way his father held onto the half-open bathroom door, Jesse thought he might have fallen.

  “So you do need to go,” his father said.

  “No. But I’m ready to leave, Dad.” Jesse didn’t dare to look back at the workers. However, he felt certain they were watching.

  “Sure, Jess.” His anger somehow having melted away in the bathroom, his father reached down to tousle his hair and missed. He grinned and tried again, this time managing to run his fingers across the top of Jesse’s head. “Whatever you want, Jess. You know you’re my little sport.”

  Though Jesse didn’t think he’d ever get used to his father’s drastic mood changes, this one couldn’t have come at a better time. He pulled on his father’s hand, led him to the door and was relieved when they stepped out into the cool air. They hurried along for over a block before he felt safe.

  “So’d’ya have a good time, Jess?” his father asked, his words slurred. He tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and yanked on Jesse’s arm as he stumbled. Fortunately, he caught himself before knocking them both down. He laughed.

  “Yeah, it was fun, Dad.” Jesse looked up and could see drool hanging from one corner of his father’s mouth. Wasn’t he feeling well?

  “Me and mom’s getting back together, y‘know. She’s gonna let me come—”

  His father stumbled again but this time let go of Jesse’s hand before he staggered off the sidewalk. Laughing, he struggled back up and attempted to walk along the curb like a little kid. He took only two steps before losing his balance and staggering back down to the street.

  “It won’t be long b’fore I move back to-to the apartment.”

  Jesse nodded. The chilly breeze made his damp underwear cold and uncomfortable.

  “No, serious,” his dad said, swinging his arms wildly as he tried to stay on the curbing. “I’m coming back. Your mom loves me, y’know. We’re family, and families live under the same-same house.”

  Jesse gave his best fake smile and was thankful when his father dropped the subject and stepped back up to walk in the middle of the sidewalk. He still seemed to have trouble keeping his balance, but at least they were moving faster.r />
  Jesse and his mom lived in an apartment up over a laundromat, where if Jesse stood on the edge of his bed and peeked over the two-story building across the street, he could make out the very tip of McDonald’s yellow arches. It didn’t take them long to cover the short distance but Jesse’s father was breathing hard by the time they reached the front door. It seemed to Jesse that not long ago his father could easily have run the same distance. Something was definitely wrong with him.

  “Karen,” his father said too-loudly into the intercom. He waited only a second before pounding the button again. “Karen, we’re back. Open the fucking door!”

  “Okay, okay,” Jesse’s mother’s said through the speaker.

  The door buzzed, and Jesse’s father shoved it open.

  “Bye, Dad,” Jesse said, rushing past and bolting up the stairs. He was already in his bedroom by the time his parents started fighting through the already closed apartment door. His father, like always, wanted to come in and talk. His mother wanted no part of it, so they yelled back and forth through the door.

  Jesse knew he should have been changing his underwear, but instead he crawled into bed, pulled his blanket over his head and started to cry.

  2

  Under-Heaven

  …sometime in 1945

  At first, she didn’t tell me I was dead. Instead, she said, “You’ve moved on.”

  I had no recollection of anything before that moment. It was as though I had just magically appeared standing before her. She was a heavyset woman in her fifties, I guessed, with a cheerful smile and a graying stack of brunette hair tied in a bun at the top of her head. Her loose, white dress had a high, open collar and hung below her calves. She wore white stockings barely higher than the ankle of her white shoes. Her outfit reminded me of a nurse. We were standing on the grass in front of a small, white home. A bay window protruded from a wall to the left of a small porch. A single, unadorned white door opened out onto the porch, and a set of five white steps dropped down onto an immaculately cut, green lawn. Beautiful flowers of every imaginable color surrounded the porch.